Changed
by TrueIllusion82
Summary: Justin returns to Pittsburgh for Christmas after his first year spent away from Brian in New York, and discovers that Brian has been keeping something from him.
1. Changed

" _Whether we see each other next weekend, next month...never again...doesn't matter. It's only time."_

"All I'm saying is, someone should have called Justin."

The blonde young man standing outside the door to the diner was surprised to hear his name in a conversation coming from inside.

"Brian told me not to. What was I supposed to do, go against his wishes and do it anyway?" Justin recognized this voice - Michael.

"I know he told you not to. I was there." Ben. "I said it then, and I'll say it again now: It's disrespectful to Justin to not tell him, or at least warn him ahead of time. Can you imagine what it's going to be like Justin walks in and sees him?"

Justin was too lost in his own thoughts to listen to the next line in the conversation. What was it going to be like when he walked in and saw who? He and Brian weren't beholden to each other - they were always free to go, free to move on at any time. There were no locks on their doors. If Brian had someone new, it was really none of Justin's business. Why on earth would Ben think it would be? Or that someone should call him to warn him?

He left the questions hanging unanswered in his mind as he stamped the snow off his shoes, pulled the door open, and stepped into the familiar space - the diner where he'd worked, hung out, and basically grown up a whole hell of a lot in the five years he spent on Liberty Avenue. The conversation at the booth closest to the door abruptly ceased the second he walked in, but Justin didn't have much time to further consider what he'd overheard, because before he knew it, a familiar voice cried, "Sunshine!" and he almost instantly found himself enveloped in one of Debbie Novotny's bone-crushing hugs.

"It's so good to see you, sweetheart!" she said as she released him from the hug and looked him up and down. "You're skin and bones, honey...don't they have food in New York?"

Justin laughed, "Yes, they have food in New York." He didn't bother telling her that most of the time he lived on spaghetti, ramen, canned soup, and potatoes - ah, the life of a starving artist. Regardless, he knew Debbie was going to be force-feeding him cheeseburgers and fries the entire time he was in Pittsburgh.

He shrugged out of his coat and sat down with Michael and Ben. Naturally, the first thing they wanted to know was how things were going for him in New York. Things weren't bad, but they weren't exactly what he'd wanted or expected, either. He knew his artwork was good, but there were a lot more artists in New York than there were in Pittsburgh...more people competing for limited show and gallery space. He'd scored a couple of shows, and a few sales at each one, but nothing huge. He felt like he made the majority of his meager earnings painting commissioned portraits of rich old ladies' grandchildren. Definitely not the dream he had in mind when he moved there. When he chose to give up his relationship - his almost marriage - with Brian. Brian, who had apparently now moved on with someone else.

Even after Justin went back to his mother's condo that evening, he couldn't get the conversation he'd overheard earlier out of his head. Couldn't move his mind away from the man he'd once loved so deeply...and still did, if he was being honest with himself. They didn't need rings or vows to prove that they loved each other. And they were always free to go, to move on - they were never trapped by a promise or expectation of monogamy. When Justin left for New York, he knew Brian was letting him go - giving him the opportunity to spread his wings and fly. To be the best homosexual he could possibly be.

The day he'd walked out the door of the loft to catch a plane to New York, Justin honestly didn't know what would happen to their relationship. Of course it would change - 400 miles between you will do that - but he didn't know how or when it would. Would they be constantly on planes, shuttling back and forth to each other with 90-minute flights every other weekend? Would Brian take a week off from work to spend in the city with Justin in his tiny bedroom in the hole-in-the-wall apartment he shared with Daphne's friend? Would Justin be so lovesick he'd have to come back to Pittsburgh or risk going insane? Would Brian decide to finally fulfill his longtime dream of moving to New York?

None of those things were how it had played out. The only thing he and Brian had exchanged since he left for New York were phone calls. It was a strange shift in a relationship that had always been so tactile, to suddenly be so out of touch. They spoke on the phone once a week, always on Wednesday. Justin really looked forward to their conversations, even though it made him miss Brian's touch even more. They'd kept up the regular schedule really well most of the time. Justin remembered one week about six or seven months before when he'd called Brian on his cell phone at their usual time and the call went straight to voicemail.

"You've reached Brian Kinney," it said. "You know what to do."

Justin didn't leave a message.

He'd tried again the next night and got the same thing. He tried to play it off, to be nonchalant - to assume that Brian had simply forgotten to tell him about some trade conference or something. And he'd resisted the urge to ask about the missed calls when Brian had called him the next week, sounding really tired and a little out of sorts, but somehow still managing to follow their usual script: How was Justin's latest project coming along? Had Brian heard from Gus lately? How was the family?

Six weeks after that call, Brian's home phone number changed when he told Justin he got a new apartment. Justin had to admit he was a little surprised that Brian would ever consider giving up his fuckpad. Now, he was wondering if perhaps that had been when Brian had moved in with this mysterious new beau that everyone was keeping from Justin. And he also had to wonder why on earth Brian wouldn't just tell him that he'd found someone new. They still talked once a week - they'd just spoken on the phone three days ago, talking about Justin's plans to come to Pittsburgh for Christmas. Laughing about Debbie threatening to come to New York and drag him back to the Pitts herself if he even thought about missing Christmas Eve at her house.

"Will you be there?" Justin had asked Brian.

Brian had been quiet for a few beats, and Justin could hear him breathing before the older man finally spoke. "Yeah."

"Good. It'll be good to see you."

"Yeah." Brian's voice sounded distant. Distracted.

Looking back now through the lens of the conversation he'd overheard at the diner, Justin remembered thinking Brian had sounded nervous for the rest of their call, and seemed like he suddenly really wanted to get off the phone. He guessed that Brian's new boyfriend would be at Debbie's house as well, although he thought it was strange that Brian would be nervous about that. Maybe Brian was just afraid things would be weird between them. Maybe they would be.

Justin slipped between the sheets of the bed in the guest room in Jennifer's condo and sighed as he let his head settle back onto the pillow. He would have answers to his questions soon enough - he just had to wait until tomorrow.

All the next day, Justin couldn't shake the feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. He tried to tell himself that it didn't matter - he and Brian weren't together anymore, and they were both free to see whoever they wanted. But he couldn't deny that it hurt a little to think that the man he'd almost married had moved on so easily and so quickly.

He shook his head quickly, as if to clear away the unpleasant thoughts, as he sat in the floor of his mother's living room, wrapping gifts.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked as she passed him the roll of tape.

Justin knew he couldn't possibly put the jumble of thoughts running through his head into words, so he just shrugged and decided to change the subject, sort-of.

"Have you seen Brian lately?" he asked, trying to sound casual.

"No," Jennifer said lightly. "But I heard he sold the loft, and I was a little surprised he didn't call me."

Justin didn't say anything. He kept wrapping.

"I guess I figured he had his reasons." Jennifer shrugged as she leaned over to place the box she'd just finished under the Christmas tree.

"Yeah," Justin said quietly, his voice and his thoughts both equally far away.

Shortly before 4 p.m. on Christmas Eve, Justin was standing on the sidewalk outside of Debbie's house, light snow falling around him. He had a gift in his hand for Michael - the name Debbie had drawn on his behalf in their annual gift-exchange drawing. It was a framed collage of drawings inspired by some of Michael's favorite comics. Justin really hoped he liked it.

But all of the thoughts about Michael's gift were just a distraction from the elephant in the room - that eventually he was going to have to go in the house, and face this thing he wasn't supposed to know about that everyone had apparently been keeping from him.

Justin looked around as he took a deep breath and exhaled, the vapor clearly visible in the cold late-afternoon air. He didn't see Brian's Corvette parked on the street. He did see Michael and Ben's SUV - the idyllic suburban soccer mom mobile - and the thought made him laugh out loud to himself. They totally were the Stepford Fags. He also saw Mel and Linds' station wagon, although his excitement to see Gus and J.R. still didn't eclipse the trepidation he felt about the Big Secret. As he walked up the steps, Justin figured he'd have to wait a little longer for the secret to be revealed, since it didn't look like Brian was there yet. That was just like Brian - to be fashionably late. Maybe he wanted to make some big, dramatic entrance with his new boyfriend. That would be just like him too.

He knocked on the door and took another cycle of breath to steady himself. Why was he so nervous? These people were his family. They loved him. Even when he was with Ethan, when he'd hurt Brian so badly that he thought they'd all hate him, they'd loved him. Well, all but one of them. But that had long since been resolved. Why would now be any different, just because he'd been in New York for almost a year?

Only a few seconds had passed before Michael opened the door and ushered Justin inside, taking his coat and leaning the wrapped gift against the wall next to Debbie's Christmas tree, which was decorated in exactly the fashion you'd expect Debbie Novotny to decorate: loud and flashy. The others were in the small dining area, seated around the table, enjoying some eggnog and cookies. Brian was there too, seated on the other side of the table, playing with his glass and not looking at Justin.

Justin didn't have much time to notice or think about that odd detail, because one by one he found himself being embraced by Michael and Ben and Lindsay and Melanie and Ted and Blake and Emmett and Hunter and even Carl. Gus tugged at his hand and Justin bent down to hug him as well. As he stood back up, he'd just started to wonder when Brian was going to come and hug him as well, when he felt a hand on his back and turned to find Brian sitting behind him, in a wheelchair.

For a moment, Justin felt like the world had screeched to a halt, like he wasn't quite sure what he was looking at or if this was even reality and not some alternate universe or a really, really weird dream.

Brian looked up at him and smiled that familiar crooked grin, his hazel eyes bearing a note of apprehension that belied the man's trademark self-assuredness. "Hey Sunshine." He reached his hands out and took Justin's. "It's really good to see you."

There were a lot of words fighting in Justin's head in that moment, but none of them were making it out. Most of them probably shouldn't. Things like: What the hell is going on here? That's seriously all you have to say to me right now? What the fuck is this? Some kind of a sick joke?

Brian released Justin's hands and rolled back a little, his face almost reminiscent of a little boy who was about to admit to his parents that he'd done something wrong. Justin was glad when Brian spoke again, because Justin still couldn't find a coherent thought. He could see Ben out of the corner of his eye giving Michael a look that seemed to say I-told-you-so.

"God, this feels like coming out of the closet," Brian said as he dipped his head down and ran his fingers through his hair. "I guess it kind of is." He let out a nervous laugh.

Justin finally found some words. "This isn't funny, Brian. What's going on?"

Brian gestured toward the couch in Debbie's living room and started toward it, turning his head to look over his shoulder and say, "Come in here. Let's talk."

The younger man felt like he was in a fog as he followed Brian into the living room and watched as he moved slightly past the couch and then turned around. Justin watched him place his right hand on his wheelchair tire and his left hand carefully and strategically on one of the cushions before vaulting his body out of the chair and onto the couch. He picked up his legs with his hands, one by one, and settled them into what looked like a natural position, before nudging the chair back out of the way a little. Brian patted the cushion next to him as he looked at Justin and said, "Sit. Please."

Justin slowly, numbly did as he was told, glancing toward where the others were restarting their conversation over the cookies and eggnog, which he presumed was an effort to give them some privacy.

Brian took Justin's hand again, and Justin noticed Brian's hand was trembling a little. The older man's breathing was a little uneven and sounded like he was trying to muster up the courage to have this conversation.

Unable to wait any longer, Justin decided to just come out with it. "What the hell is going on? I've been talking to you on the phone once a week for months, and somehow this..." Justin paused as he gestured at Brian, then the chair. "...never comes up? What happened to you? When?"

"I don't even know where to start."

"What and when would be a good place to start." Justin was trying not to sound as angry as he felt right now.

Brian took another deep breath and looked down at his lap as he started to tell the story. "It happened in June. I wrecked the Corvette. On the way back from West Virginia. Closing on the sale of the house."

Justin watched Brian as he fidgeted, running his fingers over his thighs.

"I was going too fast. I was going to be late for an important presentation. It was raining. That's all I remember." Brian paused for a moment. "Until I woke up in a fucking hospital and I felt like the lower half of my body was gone. I hate hospitals."

Justin nodded. They both hated hospitals. They'd acquired that hatred together. They both knew why.

"I should have just kept the damn house. I think all of this has cost me more than I made selling it. Anyway, when I hit the tree, I fractured two vertebrae in my spine, and the bone nicked my spinal cord. I can't feel anything from a couple of inches below my belly button on down. And I'm stuck in that fucking chair, forever."

Justin was staring at Brian, trying to figure out what to say and again unable to fish any words out of his brain.

"So, that's the story, Sunshine."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Brian sighed. "I'm not sure. I guess I liked feeling normal. I wanted to keep feeling normal for an hour every week, when we talked. Everyone else was constantly checking on me, seeing if I needed anything, trying to help me with shit, smothering me...reminding me that something had changed. I needed to feel normal. Like myself again. When I talked to you, I was still the same person I'd always been."

"And the week when you didn't call…"

"Yeah. I was in the hospital. And I don't even remember our conversation when I did call you, because I was so high on painkillers. I'd just had surgery a few days before that to fuse my spine and it hurt like a motherfucker. But I wanted to hear your voice. And I remember that it felt so good to feel like nothing was wrong, like everything was status quo. So I wanted to keep that going. I know that was selfish."

Justin didn't say anything.

"Michael wanted me to tell you. He was so pissed at me when I hung up after that first call and I hadn't said anything. I wanted to tell you...I knew I should. I owed you that much. But I couldn't. I'm sorry."

In that moment, Justin wanted so badly to throw one of Brian's favorite phrases, "Sorry's bullshit," back in his face. But he didn't.

"I made Michael promise not to say anything. I knew I was going to have to come clean eventually, but the longer I went without telling you, the more I wasn't sure how to do it. How to explain why I waited so long to tell you. Every excuse just sounded like bullshit. So I decided to wait and do it in person." He shrugged. "And here we are. On fucking Christmas Eve. Me coming out of the damn paraplegic closet. And my excuses still sound like bullshit."

Brian was looking toward the front window now, facing away from Justin. Justin scooted closer to him and started to wrap his arms around Brian's shoulder's. The older man turned his head back toward Justin, jolted from his reverie, as Justin pulled him into a hug. The two of them just sat there, holding each other, for a long minute or two. Breathing together. Justin relished the familiar feeling of warmth and security. Brian's touch still felt the same as it always had. He was still Brian.

When they released each other, they were no longer alone in the living room. Gus had somehow escaped his moms and was starting to climb into Brian's chair when Lindsay suddenly appeared from the kitchen.

"Gus! What have I told you about-"

"He's fine." Brian cut her off. "I let him play with it at my place."

"I just don't want him to break something."

"My chair, himself, or one of Debbie's tchotchkes?"

"Any of the above," Lindsay laughed.

Brian leaned over and started tickling Gus, who laughed and started squirming as Brian pulled him into his lap. In his flailing, Gus kicked Brian in the shin, hard, with his heel. Brian didn't notice. Justin couldn't help but notice.

"Alright, Sonny Boy," Brian said, releasing the boy who was looking more and more like a miniature version of him with each passing year. "Let's go back in the kitchen and see we're any closer to lasagna...sound good?" Gus nodded as he slid off Brian's lap. "I'll meet you there."

As Gus trotted off, Lindsay trailing behind, Brian took Justin's hand in his and squeezed it. "Are we okay?"

Justin paused for a moment and swallowed before answering.

"Yeah. We're okay. I'm just glad you're okay."

"I'm fine," Brian's familiar somewhat-acerbic tone came through loud and clear in those words, as if he'd spoken them that way many, many times in recent months. He pulled his chair closer with one hand, then gripped the right wheel and launched his body back into it. Justin watched him pick his legs up again and nestle his shoes onto the footplate.

"Is it weird?" The words were out of Justin's mouth before he could stop them.

"What?"

"Nothing." Justin thought better of what he'd just asked. His head was full of questions now, and none of them felt appropriate. He turned and took one step in the direction of the kitchen before Brian reached out and grabbed his wrist to stop him.

"No, what?"

Justin could feel the warmth of redness creeping into his cheeks. "Um...picking your legs up like that."

"It used to be." Brian shrugged his shoulders. "I don't really think about it now."

The younger man nodded as his former partner let go of his arm and started to propel himself toward where the rest of their family was gathered. Justin lingered in the living room for another moment, just watching. Trying to reconcile this new version of Brian with the one that lived in his head.

Debbie had just pulled the lasagna out of the oven when Brian came up beside her and stole a piece of garlic bread from the basket on the counter. She swatted his hand playfully. "No spoiling your dinner!"

He blinked up at her, giving her the puppy dog eyes, as he stuck it in his mouth and bit off the end.

"Don't you try that poor-pitiful-Brian bullshit on me, kiddo," she laughed as she laid two potholders out on the table to go under the casserole dish. "We both know it isn't true."

Brian smirked at her and held the rest of the piece of bread between his teeth as he moved to take back his spot at the table. Justin sat in the chair next to him and stole what was left of Brian's eggnog, hoping that it was spiked with whiskey, and it was. Good. He needed a drink.

As Deb brought over the lasagna, the bread, and the salad dish, Justin felt Brian reach over and grab his hand, weaving their fingers together under the table. As the family squeezed in around the table to share their traditional Christmas Eve meal, everything exactly as Justin remembered it had been for the six years since he'd been welcomed into this little family that had chosen each other, Justin was lost in his thoughts. So much was different now, but at the same time it felt so much the same.

When the festivities were over and everyone started to go their separate ways, Justin and Brian again found themselves alone in Debbie's living room. This time, Justin was sitting in Carl's recliner and Brian was over by the front window, watching it snow.

"Too bad it's not sticking," he said. "We could have a white Christmas. Although I have to be honest, snow is a bitch in this thing." He laughed. "So maybe not."

Justin felt weird about laughing at Brian's slightly morbid joke, so he didn't. In fact, he was still feeling pretty dazed by the events of earlier that evening, finding out that the Big Secret wasn't Brian's new lover at all, but instead Brian's new life.

"Come on, Sunshine," Brian said as he turned to face Justin. "Cheer up. I told you, I'm fine."

"I know you're fine. It's just…" he let his voice trail off while he tried to make sense of the million different trains of thought that seemed to be crossing paths in his brain right now. "I can't wrap my head around it."

Brian snorted. "Yeah. I know the feeling."

"Sorry, I'm not… I wasn't trying to… I don't even know what I'm saying."

"Then don't say anything." Brian came closer and leaned in, touching his lips to Justin's, at first softly, then harder.

Justin's entire nervous system felt like it was lighting up like the Christmas tree in the corner of the room as he and Brian connected in a way they hadn't since the night before he'd left for New York. He felt almost breathless as Brian pulled away and looked into Justin's eyes, as if he was studying him.

"Do you want to come back to my place?"

Justin wasn't sure how to answer that question. He wanted to, but at the same time he didn't know what that meant, or even where the two of them stood in their relationship at the moment.

"It's...okay if you don't. I get it." Brian shrugged as he rolled back a bit, putting some distance between Justin and himself. "I'm...different now."

"No, it's not that. I just… God, I feel so inarticulate tonight."

Brian laughed. "It's okay, Sunshine. I pretty much dropped a bomb on you earlier. You're allowed to be a little shell-shocked."

Justin nodded. That was exactly how he felt right now. Shell-shocked. Like he wasn't sure how to begin to process all of this.

"So, did you drive here?" Brian asked him, changing the subject.

"No, my mom dropped me off."

"At least let me give you a ride back to her place, then," Brian said as he went to grab their coats off the hooks by the front door and tossed Justin his.

"Oh, you still-"

"Drive?" Brian chuckled. "Yes. I bought a new car. It has hand controls."

Justin suddenly remembered the steps up to the porch of Debbie's house. "Where are you parked?"

"Out back in the alley. There's only one step out there, so it was easier to put a ramp out there than out front. More out of the way." Brian shrugged as he stuck one arm and then the other into his black leather jacket and leaned forward in his chair to pull the back of the jacket down to where it should be. "You know Deb. She wasn't going to let me have an excuse not to come to family dinners." He smiled and pulled a set of car keys out of his jacket pocket, setting them on his lap.

"So, can I give you a ride?"

"Sure."

The two of them said their goodbyes to Debbie and Carl, both of them ending up with a faint, red lipstick imprint on their cheeks before they headed out the back door. Justin opened the gate to the privacy fence that enclosed the tiny backyard and saw a sleek, black Mustang parked nearby.

"I see you still had to go with the sportscar," Justin smiled as Brian unlocked the doors with the remote and the car's lights flashed. He resisted the urge to ask Brian if he needed help, and felt stupid for even having the impulse at all - obviously Brian had gotten himself here just fine. He felt like he was gawking as he watched Brian move his body from the wheelchair to the driver's seat of the car, remove the wheels from the chair one by one and toss them into the backseat before folding the back of the chair down toward the seat and wedging the whole thing into the back of the car as well, struggling with it a bit.

"I normally put the frame in the passenger seat," Brian said, as if he was reading Justin's mind. "But if someone's with me, I have to put it back there."

Justin nodded as he climbed into the car and put his seat belt on. Brian started the car, pushed the knob to the left of the steering wheel toward the dash to apply the brake, then put the car into drive before pulling the knob back toward himself to accelerate. Justin still felt like he was ogling Brian, so he was thankful when the older man reached up with his right hand to switch the radio on and provide a little distraction.

They talked some more as Brian navigated the streets between Debbie's house near Liberty Avenue and Jennifer's condo in the suburbs, but they kept the conversation fairly light this time. Lots of small talk about Molly and Gus and J.R. and Mel and Linds and Daphne and art shows and Kinnetik. Much less heavy than the conversation they'd had earlier. For that, Justin was grateful.

"This feels like deja vu," Brian said as he pulled the Mustang up to the curb in front of Jennifer's townhouse. "Me dropping you off here. I feel like your mom should be coming out to scold you any minute now for running off with me," he laughed.

"I think it's a little too late for that," Justin grinned as he took off the seatbelt and put his hand on the door handle. "Besides, she likes you now."

Brian's gaze looked like he was far away, lost inside his head for a moment, before he said, "Yeah. I guess so."

"You okay?"

"Yeah," Brian said, shaking his head a little as if bringing himself back to the present. "Well, goodnight." He leaned across the console and gave Justin a tender kiss, cupping Justin's cheek with his left hand.

As they broke off their kiss and Justin climbed out of the car, feeling Brian's eyes on his back as he walked up the driveway toward the front steps of his mother's home, Justin idly wished he'd said yes to Brian's original question earlier - if he wanted to go back to Brian's place.

And an hour later, as he settled into the bed in Jennifer's guest room for the night, he realized that he wanted nothing more.

All through the Christmas morning hoopla of gifts and cinnamon rolls and a mini-marathon of holiday movies on the TV, Justin again found that he couldn't keep his mind off Brian. So he was very thankful when, a little before 2 p.m., his cell phone rang and Brian's name popped up on the caller ID. Justin excused himself and walked upstairs as he answered.

"Hey, what's up?"

"Just leaving the Munchers' brunch. Making my cameo appearance as dad."

"And you survived, it seems."

"Barely."

"So what's next on the agenda?"

"I thought I'd see if you wanted to come over. Just to hang out," Brian added quickly, as if he felt the need to clarify his intentions. "I shouldn't have asked you last night if you wanted to come back to my place. I didn't mean to make you feel pressured."

If only Brian knew just how much Justin wished he had gone back to Brian's place to spend the night.

"You still there?" Brian asked.

"Yeah," Justin said quickly.

"So...do you...want to come over?"

"Sure."

"I mean, I don't want to take you away from your family..."

"You wouldn't be. Molly's heading to dad's soon, and I think mom is going out with Tucker later."

"Perfect. So, should I pick you up?"

Twenty minutes later, Justin was back in Brian's Mustang, headed toward an apartment that actually wasn't too far from his mom's townhouse.

"Brian Kinney living in the 'burbs," Justin teased. "Who would've thought?"

"Yeah, well, you wouldn't believe what a bitch it is to find a wheelchair accessible apartment. I didn't have time to find a house and renovate when they booted my ass out of rehab. This place was half decent, even if the commute to work sucks," Brian said as he pulled the car into a parking space near the building. He then swung open the door and started assembling his wheelchair. Justin was impressed with how quickly Brian had everything together and himself in the chair, heading up the sidewalk toward an alcove that held four red apartment doors. They went into the first one on the left - 2A - and Brian tossed his keys onto the low-set bar between the kitchen and the living room as they entered.

"There's some water in the fridge," he said. "Pardon me for not being a good host and getting it for you, but I have to piss, so help yourself." That was Brian Kinney for you. Brutally honest to a fault.

The kitchen in the apartment was different, with several of the lower cabinets missing to allow closer access to the countertop from a wheelchair. Everything seemed to be at a slightly lower level as well. Justin opened the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water, opening it as he walked into the living room and took a seat on Brian's fancy Italian sofa, which, like the rest of Brian's furniture, looked seriously out of place in this suburban apartment. A few minutes later, Brian emerged from the bathroom and retrieved a drink for himself before joining Justin in the living room. He set his water down on the coffee table and quickly transferred from his chair to the sofa before pushing the chair back and out of view.

"Ah," he said as he leaned back into the throw pillows and exhaled with a sigh. "Much better."

Justin still didn't know what to say or what to do. It was strange to feel so out of his element with a man whom he'd known so intimately for so many years. Brian seemed to sense his discomfort and held his left arm out, inviting Justin to come closer.

"I don't bite, I promise," the older man said.

Justin scooted closer and nestled himself under Brian's arm, just as he'd done so many times before. It felt so familiar, so comfortable...so...them. Brian and Justin. He could feel Brian's left hand lightly tracing circles on his shoulder.

"I've missed you," Brian said softly, breaking the silence as he turned his head to look at Justin. He had a small smile on his face, but it looked a little sad.

"Me too," Justin breathed, intoxicated by the feeling of their bodies in such close proximity after what felt like a very long year. He laid his head on Brian's shoulder and closed his eyes, taking it all in.

The pair let the quiet settle in, and for a few minutes the only audible sound in the apartment was the low, almost indiscernible murmur of the neighbor's television on the other side of the wall.

It was Brian who spoke first, his voice soft.

"Sunshine, listen to me… Are you listening?"

Justin couldn't stop the corner of his mouth from turning up into a slight grin at Brian's familiar phrase that he almost always used to start off a serious conversation. "I'm listening."

"I hope you believed me when I said that I really wanted to tell you."

Justin stayed quiet, but opened his eyes and tilted his gaze upward toward Brian's face as he listened.

"I just didn't know how to do it. How the fuck do you tell somebody this? Much less the person who knows you better than anybody else?" Brian paused as he shifted his back slightly and grunted.

Justin wanted to ask if he was hurting him, but he didn't get a chance to.

"I didn't have to tell them, you know - the family. It just sort of...spread. If I had just let Michael tell you, like he wanted to, then it would have spread to you too, and I wouldn't have had to do it. But I didn't tell you because I wanted to be selfish. I needed to feel like everything was okay and nothing had changed. Truthfully, I wanted to ignore it, to act like it hadn't happened...but obviously, I can't do that. It's right fucking there in the open, all the time. It's the first thing people see when they meet me. You weren't seeing me though, so I could pretend with you. And I did. And I know that wasn't fair to you."

"It's okay," Justin said softly as he laid his head back down on Brian's shoulder. "I get it. After I was bashed, I would have given anything to have people stop recognizing me on the street, wanting to ask me if I was okay, what happened to the guy who did it...you sort of feel like it takes over who you are. Like the rest of you doesn't matter, you're just this one thing and that's it."

Brian nodded as his eyes turned the same dark, brooding color they always did when Justin talked about the bashing. "So, I'm sorry that I did that to you. I'm sorry that I blindsided you with this. When you walked through that door yesterday, it really hit me what I had set myself up for...and I felt so sick for having lied to you for so long."

"You didn't lie. You just didn't tell me."

"A lie of omission. Same thing."

"You know, I think this is the most I've ever heard you apologize in the six years I've known you." Justin smirked as he lifted his head up and looked at Brian's face, which quickly broke into a smile as the older man gave him a playful shove.

"Yeah, well don't get used to it, you twat," Brian laughed.

"Glad to see nothing between us has changed."

That had apparently been the wrong thing to say, Justin thought as he watched the playful expression fade from Brian's face. The few seconds that passed before Brian spoke again felt like an eternity.

"A lot has changed." Brian pressed his hands down onto the sofa cushion and used his arms to lift himself up and shift his weight a bit before settling back down. "That's one of them. I have to remember to lift myself up and shift around every so often so I don't get fucking pressure sores on my ass. So that's fun. And then there's the muscle spasms. And the neuropathic pain in places that are numb the rest of the time, when they don't feel like they're on fire. And the damn rods in my spine that I can feel just-so-slightly every time I bend down to pick something up off the floor. And the fact that going to the bathroom is always a goddamn emergency, but I'm counting my blessings there because at least I have that much control and I know that not everyone in my situation does."

Justin sat quietly and listened. It seemed like Brian just needed to get all of this out in the open.

"And then there's sex. Or lack thereof. Brian Fucking Kinney who can't get it up without a goddamn blue pill. And once I do, what's the point, because I can't feel anything down there anyway. Not that anyone's beating down my door to fuck anymore. My occupational therapist told me I just needed to focus on my erogenous zones above the waist...and that sex for the new me would probably be more about enjoying the act of pleasing my partner...relishing the intimacy. Yeah, you think I gave a shit about the people I tricked with? There's fucking nothing in it for me anymore. This is what's become of Brian Kinney, stud of Liberty Avenue. Isn't that just poetic justice, Sunshine?"

"What? Are you trying to say this is some kind of a punishment?"

"Well, that's what my fucking mother said. She marched her bigoted ass right into my hospital room and gave me some sanctimonious speech, said that she hoped I'd finally seen the error of my ways and was ready to change because, see, the Lord had taken away my ability to perform the abominable act of sodomy. She actually fucking said that. I'm pretty sure Michael wanted to slug her, but Zen Ben stopped him. I wish Michael would have. I wanted to, but I was stuck in that damn bed."

"If I had been there, I would have done it for you."

"Thanks."

"I hope you at least told her off."

"I didn't get a chance to. She said her piece, and left. I haven't seen her since. If she's waiting for me to come around, it'll be a cold day in hell…" Brian let his voice trail off. "Anyway, enough about Saint Joan. Do you want to grab some dinner? Or I can order something if you'd rather stay in."

"I doubt anywhere is open."

"Oh, that's right. It's Christmas. I forgot."

"Do you have anything in your fridge besides beer and poppers?" Justin grinned at the memory of how empty the loft fridge usually was, save for the times when his mother would fill it up with fruits and vegetables. "I could make something."

"Believe it or not, I do have some food in there. Now that I'm not spending all night every night clubbing and fucking, I thought maybe I'd take up cooking. I suck at it."

Justin laughed as he got up and went into the kitchen to examine the contents of the refrigerator to see what he could make. A minute later, Brian was beside him, pulling cutting boards and pans out of cabinets. They spent the next thirty minutes preparing a meal together - laughing and joking and teasing each other, like no time had passed and nothing had changed.

As they sat at the table and enjoyed the simple stir fry they'd made, Justin reached his arm across the table and laid his hand over Brian's.

"You know, I missed this. I miss us."

"Me too."

Two nights later, Justin was sitting in Brian's living room again, trying to convince him to go to Babylon during actual business hours.

He still owned the club, but never actually went there anymore unless it was during the day, with the fluorescent overhead lights on that made the room look like it wasn't even the same place that it was after 8 p.m. every night, when the thumpa thumpa started and the laser light show began. Brian only went there now to order alcohol and sign paychecks once a week in the middle of the afternoon.

"I don't dance anymore."

"Well, why the hell not?"

"Do I really have to answer that for you?"

"Yep, you're gonna have to, because I'm not seeing the problem."

Brian moved his hands downward, dramatically gesturing toward his wheelchair. "Do you see it now?"

"Are you under the impression that you were ever performing a Bob Fosse musical on the dance floor at Babylon?" Justin smirked at Brian. "Or anything remotely close to it?"

Brian gave Justin an irritated look.

"Well? You can still move to the beat."

"I'm gonna get fucking stepped on."

"Then you can run over their toes."

Brian sighed. "I'm not getting out of this, am I?"

An hour later, Justin could see the clear surprise on the face of the head of security as he greeted them. "Evening, Mr. Kinney, Mr. Taylor." Just like old times.

"Okay, I'm definitely going to need a drink first," Brian said as he headed in the direction of the bar. After they'd each downed a shot of whiskey, Justin took Brian's hand and started to lead him in the direction of the dance floor.

"Not wasting any time, are you?" Brian said loudly over the techno music thumping through the club's sound system as he pushed his chair through the crowd on the dance floor.

Justin stopped and leaned down, putting his mouth close to Brian's ear. "I want to make sure we have plenty of time for...other things…" Justin said as he raised an eyebrow suggestively and tried to ignore the fact that Brian was suddenly looking even more uncomfortable than he already had been.

"Justin…"

"Shut up and dance," Justin said, raising his arms above his head and moving to the beat. Brian just sat and stared at him. Lowering his arms to rest on Brian's shoulders, the younger man tried to draw his partner into moving as well. "Come on. You can do this."

"I feel like an idiot. Everyone is staring at me."

"No they're not. And if they are, so what, it's because you're hot. And you're mine." Justin leaned down and nipped at Brian's earlobe. Justin could tell by the way Brian tilted his head and closed his eyes that he'd struck a nerve, in a positive, life-affirming way.

"You keep doing shit like that and we're going to have to go straight to the VIP lounge."

"Oh really, Mr. Kinney? Maybe we'll have to do just that…" This was going even better than Justin had anticipated. He started off in the direction of the lounge and motioned for Brian to follow him. He did, but by the time they got there, the playful Brian Kinney that had suggested coming back here was gone and had been replaced by one who looked like he'd seen a ghost. Justin continued flirting, undeterred, hoping he could get Brian to come along for the ride.

"Did you bring your little blue pills, sir?" Justin asked as he bent down next to Brian, gently biting at his earlobe again before tracing a path with his tongue down the side of Brian's neck.

"I'm not doing this here."

"If I recall correctly, you were the one who suggested coming back here…" Justin teased him as he snaked a finger down the front of Brian's shirt and started to undo one of the buttons.

"Moment of temporary insanity. Forget it." Brian physically removed Justin's hand from his shirt, then turned and left the room.

Justin followed Brian as he wound his way through the crush of bodies on the dance floor and out the door to the club, ignoring the security guard as he told him to, "Have a good night, Mr. Kinney." They headed down the alley toward the car, Brian moving along at a fairly good clip now and Justin needing to break out into a run to keep up.

"Brian, wait!"

Brian stopped pushing and coasted for a couple of seconds, almost as if he was thinking of stopping. But he didn't.

The time it took Brian to do everything he needed to do in order to get back in the car gave Justin time to catch up. When he got there, Brian had his forehead leaning against the steering wheel, his chest heaving as he breathed. Justin was really wishing he hadn't pushed the issue now.

"I'm sorry…"

Brian raised his head and gave Justin a look that he didn't know exactly how to read, but it appeared to reside somewhere between anxiety and embarrassment. He was pretty sure he saw anger in there too, mixed with a little hurt.

"I shouldn't have pushed you."

"I need to go home," Brian said as he started the car, pushed the brake, and put it in gear. They rode in silence the entire way back to the apartment.

Justin had been half expecting Brian to unceremoniously drop him off at his mother's place as a way to end the evening in the most passive-aggressive way possible. But he didn't. So Justin chose to take that as a good sign. At least Brian still wanted to be in his presence.

The first place Brian went when they entered the apartment was the fridge, where he grabbed two beers and held one out to Justin. A peace offering? Maybe. He took it and leaned against the bar.

"I really am sorry. I shouldn't have pushed."

The older man shrugged and took a swig of his beer, still sitting in the middle of the kitchen. "It's okay."

"No, it's not. I embarrassed you. I made an assumption and I was wrong."

"I hope that you're not assuming that I don't want you, because I do." Brian said as he looked up at Justin, his eyes shining in the dim light. "I just need you to understand what this is like for me now. That it's not like it was before." It looked like it physically pained Brian to admit that out loud.

"I know it's not. Not completely. Sure, there are things that have changed. But there are plenty of things that are like they were before…" Justin walked around the bar and into the kitchen, leaning down to wrap his arms around the older man's shoulders and give him a kiss. "Like how much I love you."

Brian leaned into Justin's touch.

"What if we go to bed?" Justin asked as he continued to plant small kisses along Brian's jawline. The older man tilted his head back, closed his eyes, and moaned softly as he nodded. Slowly, they worked their way toward the bedroom and into Brian's bed.

Justin awoke first in the morning, rolling over to find Brian lying on his stomach, with the covers bunched up across his hips, leaving his back exposed, where Justin could see a long scar marking where a surgeon had put his lover's spine back together. Lightly, Justin reached out to touch it, just brushing it with his fingers. To Brian, this was likely a sign of imperfection, something to be hated. Reviled. Yet another physical reminder of everything that had changed. But to Justin, it was a sign of survival - that his partner had lived through something truly horrific. And while it had changed his life forever, his life wasn't over. Brian was still Brian. Changed, sure. But there was still touch. There was still intimacy. There was still connection. There was still something to live for. And Justin was so glad to be a part of it again.


	2. Together

_Let me not to the marriage of true minds  
Admit impediments. Love is not love  
Which alters when it alteration finds,  
Or bends with the remover to remove:  
O no; it is an ever-fixed mark,  
That looks on tempests, and is never shaken;  
It is the star to every wandering bark,  
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.  
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks  
Within his bending sickle's compass come;  
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,  
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.  
_ _If this be error and upon me proved,  
_ _I never writ, nor no man ever loved._

William Shakespeare, Sonnet 116

On a Wednesday morning in January, Brian Kinney sat at his desk in the former steam room of the bathhouse he'd turned into the headquarters of his advertising agency three years before, tapping his pen against the open file folder he had spread out in front of him. Truth be told, his mind was anywhere but focused on the campaign he was supposed to be reviewing before presenting it to a potential client later that afternoon. His mind was still stuck on the week he'd spent with Justin over the Christmas holiday.

Although it hadn't all been sunshine and roses, that was for sure.

In fact, it had started out pretty dicey.

Just thinking about it took him right back to Christmas Eve, when he'd arrived at Debbie's house almost an hour early because he was so damn nervous about what was going to happen when Justin got there. Justin, who he still hadn't told about his new station in life.

"Why the fuck did I do this?" he'd moaned as he laid his head down on Debbie's dining room table and pounded his fist on it a couple of times.

"I told you to tell him. You needed to be honest with him a long time ago." Michael was standing in the kitchen, helping his mother finish assembling the lasagna.

"Save it, Mikey. I already know you told-me-so."

Brian lifted his head up in time to see Michael roll his eyes before coming over to the table, where he sat down in front of Brian and reached his hand across to cover Brian's closed fist, still resting on the surface.

"You got yourself into a mess here, you know that," Michael said.

"The Brian Kinney special."

Michael grinned at him. "The one and only."

Brian let out a loud sigh and put his head back down on the table. "I just want to get it over with."

Michael rubbed the top of his hand with his thumb. "I know."

"I don't know why I thought this would be easier," Brian continued, speaking directly into the table. "Doing it in person. Like somehow if he saw me, I wouldn't have to tell him."

"You're still going to have to explain what happened. And why you didn't tell him sooner."

"Thanks, Captain Obvious. I thought I'd skip over that part." Brian sat up and gave Michael a sideways glance.

"I offered to do it for you. Remember?"

"Michael. Yes, I remember. Do you remember why I told you no?"

"So you could continue keeping up the charade, I believe it was. Although those weren't exactly the words you used."

"It wasn't a charade."

"That's bullshit and you know it."

"You don't know what this is like, Michael," Brian said, his voice rising as he pushed himself back from the table. "I don't need or want your lecture." He turned and started toward the bathroom on the ground floor of Debbie's house. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to piss."

After a few seconds, he heard Michael's voice call after him, "Let me know if you need anything."

"I'm fine, Michael. I'll manage."

Fuck. Brian knew Michael meant well, but sometimes his need to coddle Brian and try to anticipate his every need was absolutely exhausting. It had been more than six months since the accident, and Brian had acquired a lot of new skills to take care of himself, the majority of them in the four weeks he spent in rehab right after being released from the hospital. Most of it could be summed up in a single sentence: Everything was a lot more complicated now and it all took for-fucking-ever.

And of course Nurse Michael was always right there, ready and waiting to smother him. At first, it hadn't been too awful, and Michael was just being a good friend, keeping him company and providing distraction while he mostly lay flat on his back for the first week or so, until he could start sitting up a little bit without feeling like someone was holding a red-hot poker to his back, which made it a little more comfortable to watch television or read a book. By the middle of the second week, his brain felt less foggy and he really wanted to do some work, to at least feel slightly less useless. But Cynthia and Ted had both outright refused to bring him his laptop and insisted that everything was fine at the office and they were handling it. They damn well better have been, or heads would roll whenever he did make it back. Brian remembered how far away making it back had felt in that moment.

Then they started weaning him off the really good drugs and sent him off to inpatient rehab, where they almost immediately got him up and into a wheelchair and doing a few things for himself. That turned out to be Michael's cue to try to do all of those things for him, no matter how many times Brian slapped his hands away or shot back a sarcastic retort. It seemed Michael had become immune to Brian's derision, though. Brian was just now, six months later, starting to get his friend to understand that he could do all of that everyday shit for himself - the grocery shopping, the laundry, cooking, all of it. You don't have to be able to walk to buy cereal or move clothes from the washer to the dryer. His hands and arms were working just fine, thank-you-very-much.

Debbie's downstairs bathroom was too narrow for him to turn around in, so he had to go in, roll forward enough so the door would have room to close, then lean backward to close it, while trying not to lose his balance and end up tipping over. God, that would make Michael even more insufferable. Thankfully he didn't need to make any transfers to do what he needed to do, because it would have been absolutely out of the question in this bathroom.

Hell, he had to twist his body sideways just to wash his hands when he was done. Brian winced a little as he felt the resistance from the titanium hardware that was now attached to his spine, stopping the twist short of where his mind still felt he should still be able to go. This was a relatively new sensation, now that he was finally completely free from the molded, hard plastic brace that covered his entire torso that he'd had to wear pretty much any time he was sitting up for the first couple of months of this little adventure, and then slowly less and less for the next couple. It had been so swelteringly hot and uncomfortably tight and he felt so restricted in it, although that was kind of the point, and he was fairly sure that having to wear it for so long had made his core weaker, in spite of the intense physical therapy appointments that had filled many, many days in the last six months, and still had a place on his calendar twice a week.

Shit, he remembered the days before all of this when he was going to the gym in search of a six pack. Now, the goal was just to be able to stay upright for an entire day without feeling physically and mentally exhausted. He was getting there. Slowly. Again, for-fucking-ever.

Brian leaned forward to dry his hands on a towel, before repeating the same process he'd done to enter the bathroom, only in reverse. When he opened the door, Michael was standing outside.

"Jesus, Mikey, I told you, I'm _fine_!" He was seriously starting to feel like those two words were going to be his mantra with Michael for the rest of their lives.

"I know," Michael said as he stood back enough to allow Brian to back out of the bathroom before going into it himself. "My turn." He closed the door.

Brian let out an exasperated sigh as he started back toward the kitchen, knowing full well that if Michael had only been interested in using the bathroom, he would have gone upstairs and used that one instead of waiting outside the one Brian was in. No, Michael definitely just wanted an excuse to hover.

He was halfway across the living room when the doorbell rang.

Debbie turned around in the kitchen, where she was sprinkling cheese on top of the lasagna, and said, "Brian, honey, could you get the door? I'm just about to put this in the oven."

"Uh, sure," he said, turning toward the door while a queasy feeling settled into his stomach when he realized the person on the other side could be Justin. He could feel the panic rising in his chest as his breathing accelerated. Christ, Kinney, get ahold of yourself, he thought as he shook his head and pushed himself in the direction of the door and reached out for the knob. He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding when the person on the other side of the door turned out to be Emmett, juggling several large containers of food.

"Hey, Brian," he said. "Here, take these, would you?" Emmett unceremoniously plopped the stack of containers right in Brian's lap before he could answer. "I've got more in the car. Be right back."

For every bit that Michael was suffocating him, Brian could always count on Emmett to act, at least outwardly, like this whole ordeal was just some mildly interesting development in the plot of life. It felt good to be around someone who didn't treat him like an invalid, although Brian could still see the shadow of sadness in Emmett's eyes and knew that on some level, there was something there - sympathy, concern, regret. Things had still changed. It wasn't like when he talked to Justin on the phone once a week, and pretended that he was still the same, able-bodied man he ever was. At least he'd admitted to himself by now that he was pretending.

One by one, and sometimes two by two, members of the family continued to arrive. Brian's apprehension was building and his stomach kept dropping to his feet every time the doorbell rang, so after repeating that process four times he'd poured himself a glass of eggnog and added a generous amount of whiskey from Carl's stash, hoping that the alcohol would help calm his nerves and make him feel a little less like he was going to be sick.

And he'd been sitting there, fidgeting with the glass, when Michael came back from the front door one last time, followed by Justin.

All things considered, Brian guessed it had gone fairly well. As well as things could go when you were telling your (former?) lover that you'd been in an accident six months ago and you were living your life in this wheelchair now but had been too chickenshit to tell him about it because you didn't want him to think any less of you. He hadn't thrown up, so he figured that was a small win. Justin hadn't seemed too angry at him, even though he had every right to be spitting mad at Brian for lying to him. He'd mostly just looked hurt. And that killed Brian. Knowing that he'd caused that hurt, and very easily could have prevented it if he hadn't been so self-serving, trying to protect his pride at Justin's expense. Although maybe that was par-for-the-course where Brian Kinney was concerned.

They'd spent most of the week that Justin was in Pittsburgh together. And God, it was like Brian could finally breathe again. They no longer had to limit their connection to words spoken over a telephone line - they had real, physical connection again. Intimacy. Touch.

He remembered the conflicting emotions that had filled his head the night Justin talked him into going out to Babylon to dance. It turned out that Justin had much more in mind than just dancing. Brian couldn't deny how it made him feel when Justin brushed his teeth against Brian's ear and trailed his tongue down the side of his neck - pure pleasure that felt almost primal - and he'd missed that feeling. He'd even furtively checked to see if he was getting hard. He wasn't. But his body was trying to chase that physical gratification, while his rational mind was anxiously tapping him on the shoulder, asking him what the heck he was doing and how he planned to work this out. For the first time. In public, no less.

When fear won out, he ran. Fucking ran away from the whole situation. If that wasn't the most un-Brian Kinney thing to do, he didn't know what was. But how do you explain to someone that you once so intimately shared your life with, that you're no longer the same person? That you can't be?

They'd gone to bed together that night. And they'd worked it out. Together. And Brian had to admit, it was pretty damn good, even if it was different.

As they lay there afterward, sweaty and tangled in each other's arms, Brian was finally honest with someone about just how devastating this turn of events had been.

"I didn't think I was ever going to feel this again."

"What?"

"This." He turned his head to look toward Justin. "I don't know...fulfillment. Expression. Like maybe I can be myself again. Maybe."

Justin propped his head up on his elbow and looked Brian in the eyes, his brows knitted in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Brian sighed and rubbed a hand over his face as he turned to look at the ceiling again. There was no way he could look at Justin for this conversation.

"I've used sex as a catharsis for just about every emotion since I was a teenager with a fake ID," he said. "Happy? Go get a blow job. Sad? Go to the baths. Mad? Hurt? Go find someone to fuck in the back room. It became my identity. Who I was. Hell, I told you that when you were 17 - I didn't believe in love. I believed in fucking. With you, though, it was different. It was always different. I didn't know why, and God did I try to fight it. But then I almost lost you again. So I asked you to marry me. Thought, well, maybe we can make this work, maybe I can change...I could do it for you, to make you happy. To keep myself from losing you. Making you happy could make me happy. But then you told me how much we would both be sacrificing to be together. You said neither of us would be happy. So we called off the wedding. And you went to New York. And I threw myself back into that old, comfortable persona, back to tricking every night. For the same reasons, too - because I didn't want to deal with how I felt about being alone. Once again, my identity became sex. And then I couldn't do that anymore."

Justin was quiet. He was lightly tracing the fingers of his left hand along Brian's chest.

"You know, I thought maybe for a little while that dear old Saint Joan was right - someone upstairs had it out for me. God was punishing me for being a fag. Why the fuck else would the universe see fit to take nearly everything from me that ever made my life worth living? First Gus, then you, then this. At least, that's how it felt at the time. And while I'm dealing with the fact that I feel like I can't even be myself anymore, like I don't know who this person is in my skin, I've got everyone else orbiting around me, trying to help me, reminding me of how everything has changed. I can still see it in their eyes every time they look at me - that little note of pity - poor Brian, look at what happened to him, what he's become." He took a deep breath and blinked back the wetness in his eyes. "I didn't know if I could take it if you looked at me like that too."

"Brian, I'm not." Justin took his hand and squeezed it. "You're still you."

Brian snorted derisively, still looking at the ceiling.

"You are," Justin continued. "You smell the same, you feel the same, you look the same...and you're still the same person underneath all of that. You're still the same man that I fell in love with. Sex doesn't define you."

"I wish I believed that."

"I wish you did too."

They hadn't said anything else to each other that night - there wasn't anything left to say. Instead, they fell asleep in the silence, Justin's arm laying across Brian's chest, and Brian relished the connection of being able to feel Justin's touch again. Having Justin's soft, warm body in his bed. Breathing the same air, together in the darkness. No longer needing words to express how they felt about each other.

Justin had stayed at Brian's place for the rest of his time in Pittsburgh. They spent four days laughing together, poking fun at each other, holding each other, drinking each other in. It felt like going back in time.

Then Justin had to go back to his life in New York, and Brian was confronted yet again with how much he missed Justin's voice, his touch, his laugh, seeing him smile. But this time he felt a new level of emptiness - physically, in his bed, and emotionally, in his heart. The heart that nobody other than Justin Taylor ever believes Brian Kinney has.

And that was why he couldn't concentrate on his work for shit, even though this presentation was really important and would mean scoring a lucrative new account. He was about to take an early lunch to see if some food would help him focus, when his phone rang, and Justin's name appeared on the caller ID display. That's right, he remembered, it was Wednesday.

"Hey, Sunshine," he answered.

"Hey - you're not busy, are you?"

"Not at all. I almost forgot you were calling early today because of your show."

Brian could hear Justin sigh on the other end of the line. "I wish you could come."

"I know, me too." Brian silently cursed the fact that he needed to be the one to make the presentation today. After months of the company - and Brian - just treading water, trying to stay afloat, it was time to get 100% back into the game and try to score this account he'd been after since he started Kinnetik. But the timing sure sucked.

They chatted about all of the same things they usually did. Brian smiled as he listened to Justin recount a story about a fellow artist he'd met on the subway. He pulled a paperclip from the glass jar on his desk and fidgeted with it as he updated Justin on the goings on of the last week in Pittsburgh.

Then, Justin broke the usual pattern.

"Have you been going out since I left?" he asked.

"Huh?"

"Going out. Like, to Woody's, or Babylon? Or are you just going to work and then going home and sitting alone in your apartment?"

Brian continued to play with the paperclip and didn't answer.

"Brian?"

"First of all, Woody's has a bunch of stairs out front. So no, I haven't been there in a long time." He tossed the paperclip back in the jar. "Sucks because I kinda miss having a beer and playing pool. And I go to Babylon once a week to do what needs to be done. I'm the owner, remember? I have to go there. And frankly, me being the owner is the only reason I can get in there. Liberty Avenue isn't exactly the most wheelchair-friendly place."

"You know what I mean. Now stop acting like you don't and answer the question."

"I'm fine." There was that mantra again. Only this time not with Michael.

"That's not what I asked."

"Justin…"

"Okay, I'll take that as a no."

"I don't want to go out." Brian propped his elbow on the desk and leaned his head into his hand. Great, now he was getting a headache.

"Why not?"

"Because it's all I can do to sit through my workday right now." That pained him a little to admit out loud. "I go home, I'm tired, I eat, I shower, I go to bed. Lather, rinse, repeat."

"Okay. I just don't want to see you isolate yourself."

Brian sighed. Right then, he really missed Justin not knowing. When he didn't know, he wasn't worried. And this worry was playing right into what Brian had been afraid of - Justin starting to treat him differently.

"Christ, you're starting to sound like Deb. You don't have to worry about me. Please don't worry about me. I'm fine. I promise."

"I'm sorry." Justin's voice suddenly sounded small. "I just...I want you to be happy. I want you to feel like you're still you."

"The best way you can do that is to stop worrying about me."

"I'm not worrying. I care about you, that's all." Justin exhaled loudly on the other end of the line. "I miss you."

"I miss you too."

"I wish I could have just stayed in Pittsburgh."

"No. Absolutely not. Not because of me."

"It has nothing to do with you getting hurt, I swear. I just realized how much I missed what we had."

Brian took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He knew exactly how much he'd missed what he and Justin had, for the entire past year. From the moment Justin left him alone in their bed at the loft to leave for the airport, he'd missed him. He'd been ready to change everything for Justin to make him happy, only in the end he thought he had to let Justin go to make him happy. He was still willing to do it, no matter what it cost him emotionally. He'd deal with it, so long as Justin was happy. Only Justin didn't sound happy right now.

As they finished their phone call and said their goodbyes, Brian was already poking around on his computer, looking at weekend flights to New York.

Brian's first plane flight post-injury was one of the most dehumanizing experiences he could have imagined. After spending 20 goddamn minutes at security getting the full hands-on treatment, which sucked - and not in a positive, life-affirming way - he finally made his way into the terminal, grabbed a sandwich and a drink from a kiosk, and went to the gate. The next step in this little adventure was enduring the indignity of one of the flight attendants pushing him like some sort of invalid in the tiny wheelchair they had that was designed to fit down the plane's narrow aisle. He was thankful he'd bought a first class ticket, so at least they didn't have to go far. It was kind of hard to get in and out of by himself, but fuck if he was going to let anybody help him. It didn't matter that he was the first one on the plane and would be the last one off, so there was no one there to watch - it wasn't happening. Period.

It was bad enough that he had to sit in the thing at the bottom of the jetway for a few minutes after deplaning in New York while he waited for them to bring his own chair, which he'd had to gate check. He was a little surprised by how nervous it made him to have it leave his sight, but he didn't have a choice because there was nowhere to stow it in the cabin. And if they damaged it somehow, he'd be up shit creek without a paddle - stuck in New York with no way to get around. It hit him in that moment that you don't really appreciate all of the transportation options your able body provides until it's no longer able.

He drummed his fingers on his thighs as he waited and watched out the small window as bags were unloaded from the plane. It still felt so strange to touch his legs and have them feel like someone else's. He wondered if he'd ever get over that feeling. After what seemed like forever but was really only five minutes, a man in a yellow safety vest appeared in the doorway with his chair, which thankfully didn't seem to be any worse for wear, and he slid into it, picking up the small suitcase he'd brought and putting it on his lap before taking off to get a cab.

Brian hadn't told Justin he was coming, because he wanted it to be a surprise, but that also meant that he was banking on Justin being home, and the apartment building having an elevator. Which in this city, might not be the safest bet. Yeah, you definitely don't appreciate your different transportation options until they're no longer an option.

The only person who knew he was here was Ted, because he knew he'd need someone to call off the dogs when Michael discovered he wasn't home. There was no way Michael could know about the trip beforehand, because he would end up wanting to come along, and trying to get him to take "no" for an answer would mean enduring endless pestering until Brian finally gave in. And the last thing he wanted on this trip was a third wheel in the form of one Michael Novotny.

So far, so good - he was handling this on his own.

Brian took a cab to his hotel in Midtown, and in the process realized he wasn't quite sure how he felt about vans with wheelchair lifts. Sure, it was easier, and didn't require taking his chair apart and putting it back together on the sidewalk, but it also made him feel like a bit of a spectacle, particularly in this bustling city where it seemed like there were always people around, no matter where you were or what time of day it was. Maybe the subway would be a better option for blending in.

He checked in, grabbed a subway map from the concierge's desk, and went to his room so he could use the bathroom and drop off his suitcase. When he looked at the bed, it suddenly hit him how tired he was and how much his back was aching. He wondered when he was going to stop feeling so tired all the time. Brian looked at his watch - 4 p.m. He really wanted to see Justin as soon as possible, but he also really wanted to be horizontal for a little bit. He'd been up since 5 a.m. and had worked until lunch before leaving for the airport. Getting horizontal won out, at least for a few minutes, so he took off his jacket before moving his body to the bed. He lay down, opening the subway map and spreading it out above his head, holding it out at arm's length. After studying it for a few minutes, he had a pretty good idea of how he'd get to Justin's apartment, so he laid the map aside and allowed his eyes to close.

Only a minute or two had passed before his cell phone started to ring in the pocket of the jacket he'd tossed onto the other side of the bed. He groped for the jacket, and the phone, groaning when he saw the name on the caller ID: Michael.

"Hey," he answered, trying to sound casual. Like he hadn't gone 400 miles away without telling his best friend.

"Hey, asshole. Why didn't you tell me you were going to New York?" Brian could hear Michael's familiar tone of I'm-trying-to-be-mad-at-you-but-not-really coming through clearly. "I would have come with you."

"Bingo."

Cue Nurse Michael. "In case you needed help with anything."

"I'm fine, Michael." Again, the mantra.

Brian could hear Michael sigh on the other end of the line. "Everything go okay?"

"Fine. All good." He left out the frustration of being felt-up at airport security, tiny airplane aisles, and the airport workers who had looked at him with clear surprise when they asked if he was traveling alone and he said yes. He still wasn't sure why every service worker he ever encountered now seemed to look at him as if he had more that wasn't working than just his legs. It was infuriating and made him feel like a child instead of a grown man who owned an advertising agency and probably made more money last month than they'd made in the last year.

"Didn't you and Justin get enough of each other at Christmas?" Michael teased.

"You know he could never get enough of me. That's why we couldn't get rid of him when he was 17."

They both laughed out loud at the memory of Brian picking up Justin under the streetlight outside of Babylon, and how Justin had stalked him afterward, refusing to give up, slowly wearing Brian down. "I'm onto you," he'd told him once. And in that moment, Brian had known he was right, even if it would take a bashing, a painful breakup, cancer, months of separation, an ultimatum, a bombing, and five years for Brian to fully admit that he felt the same way about Justin as Justin did about him.

"Thanks for telling me to call him, Mikey," Brian said.

He remembered how Michael's usual badgering had taken a different turn as he sat at the dining room table with his best friend in Michael and Ben's suburban family home on Christmas Day, where he'd spent the morning surrounded by happily married people with kids. Although two of them were Melanie and Lindsay, so he couldn't really call them all Stepford Fags. Mel and Linds had come back from Toronto for the holiday because Deb would've had their heads if they didn't, and they were staying at Michael and Ben's so Michael could spend as much time as possible with J.R. One great big, happy, very non-traditional family - two gay men, two lesbians, three kids. (Well, two kids and one apathetic college freshman.) And Brian fit somewhere in that equation, since he was still Gus's father even if he'd signed away his rights years ago, so they'd invited him over for the Christmas brunch that Mel and Linds had always hosted in the past, this time being held at Michael and Ben's.

Michael had noticed Brian's considerably-less-than-jolly mood and called him out on it in the kitchen as he poured them both a cup of coffee. "What's with you?"

"Nothing."

"Don't give me that. How are things with you and Justin?"

Brian shrugged noncommittally as he poured sugar into the mug and stirred it.

"Is he angry?"

"I don't think so. He should be, but I don't think he is."

"Well, that's good then, right? So what's up?"

"I'm an idiot, that's all."

"What happened?" Michael moved both of their mugs to the table as Brian followed him.

Ben, Melanie, and Lindsay had taken the kids for a walk around the neighborhood in an effort to burn off some of the sugar they'd consumed, and Hunter had gone to a friend's house, so he and Michael were alone. Brian was thankful for that because he knew that once he started talking about this, he was probably going to be cussing.

"I asked him if he wanted to come back to my place."

"And…?"

"And it was pretty damn clear that he didn't want to. The fucking kid that I couldn't get rid of, fucking hesitated when I asked him to come home with me last night. Didn't say a goddamn word."

"Brian, I'm sure you just caught him off-guard. You hadn't seen each other in what, a year?"

"And I'd been fucking lying to him for half of it."

Michael gave Brian a look that had I-told-you-so written all over it.

"Spare me the lecture, Mikey." Brian put his hand up. "Besides, I know why he didn't want to come back with me. Why would he want me now?"

"What are you talking about?"

"I don't know why I even thought he'd want to. I guess I thought I could keep pretending nothing had changed."

"I'm sure he didn't mean anything by it."

"You don't know that, Michael."

"Well, neither do you! You're assuming that you do, but I'm pretty sure Justin was never in love with your ability to walk."

"No, but he did kind of like my ability to fuck."

Michael sighed. "Brian...you know full-well-"

"What, that there are options out there?" Brian interrupted him, his voice rising. "Well, I've got news for you, Mikey, it's not the same. I'm not the same. I don't even know who the fuck I am anymore." His voice had broken a little at the end of that last sentence, and it was clear Michael had noticed when he moved to the chair closest to Brian and put his arms around him.

Michael holding him always reminded Brian of when they were kids, and he'd come over to the Novotny house seeking asylum from Drunken Jack and Batshit-Crazy Joan. Michael would always hold him as he tried not to cry, wondering why his parents didn't love him the same way Debbie loved Michael.

Brian let himself relax into Michael's touch, feeling the tension melt out of his shoulders as he fought to keep the tears of sheer frustration at bay. About a minute had passed before Michael released him, looked him straight in the eyes, and said, "You should call him."

Brian shook his head. "No, I made enough of a fool of myself last night. I'm not keen on a repeat performance."

"So now you're never going to speak to him again?"

"If that's what he wants."

"That's bullshit, Brian, and you know it. That would never be what Justin wanted. He loves you. And you love him, whether you want to admit it or not."

"Did I say I didn't? I'm just doubting whether or not this can still work. With...you know."

"Oh, so we're back on that again?"

"It's kind of important, don't you think? You said it yourself once, it's all about sex."

"I just don't know why you're catastrophizing when you don't even know what Justin thinks or feels, because you haven't asked him."

"Big words, Mikey. I see the professor is rubbing off on you."

"Don't change the subject, asshole. You need to call Justin. You need to talk to him. You two need to work this out."

Brian had known Michael was right, even if he didn't necessarily want to face the conversation he knew he needed to have with Justin. So when Ben, Mel, and Linds had returned with the kids, he'd said his goodbyes, and gone out to the car to call Justin. And in the end, things came out okay. He and Justin had worked it out together.

So now, here he was, lying on a hotel bed in Midtown Manhattan on a Friday afternoon, talking to Michael on the phone.

"You needed a dose of reality," Michael said. "You'd been stuck in your own head for too long. You needed to realize that your accident wasn't the end of the world."

Brian didn't have anything to say to that. He knew Michael was right. And he knew his silence would say everything.

"Well, I'll let you go, so you can go see Justin."

"Okay. Thanks again, Mikey."

"Anytime."

"Love you."

"Always have."

"Always will."

Brian flipped the phone shut and stuck it back in his jacket pocket as he used his arms to push himself upright on the bed, shifting so he could push his legs over the side and make it easier to sit up and put his jacket back on. He got himself back into his chair, stuck the subway map in one of his pockets, and went on his way to the subway station. As soon as he hit the sidewalk, he found himself quickly enveloped in a swarm of people bustling one way or another. No one seemed to notice him at all.

Finding the accessible entrance to the station closest to the hotel was interesting, and he nearly gave up and decided to just hail a damn cab, but he found it eventually and proceeded into the depths below the city. He bought a MetroCard, then had to wait for an employee to let him through the gate. The train he needed pulled in just after he got onto the platform, and he waited for the crush of people exiting the train to get off before he pushed his way into the car. Even sitting didn't take away the need to hold onto the pole to keep your balance, he thought to himself, chuckling slightly. He got off at Union Square to change to the 6 train, marveling as he wound his way through the busy station at how New Yorkers would still rush past you and bump into you without paying you any mind, even if you were in a wheelchair. He loved this city even more now than he had years ago.

When he arrived at Bleecker Street, he quickly found the elevator up to the street level, and dug a piece of paper out of his pocket with the address of Daphne's friend that Justin was currently rooming with. It was several blocks away, but the prospect of seeing Justin was keeping Brian energized right now. People continued paying no attention to him, casting him no curious or pitying glances, acting like he didn't exist, and that was just fine with him. Why couldn't Pittsburgh be more like this?

His elation was quickly erased when he got to the apartment building and was greeted with three steps up to the front door, and couldn't see any other ways in. Fuck. Fuck this goddamn chair. So much for surprising Sunshine by knocking on his door. He'd have to settle for a phone call. And then, Brian guessed, they'd have to hang out in his hotel room since there was no way Brian was getting into Justin's third-floor apartment, as best he could tell.

Brian pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed Justin's number.

"Hey, did you forget what day it is, old man?" Justin answered jokingly.

"No, just wanted to talk to you. Are you home?"

"Yeah, why?"

"You might want to go outside."

"Um...okay…" Justin sounded unsure, but he didn't argue. Brian could hear him moving, then closing a door. Justin's voice echoed when he entered the stairwell. "What's going on?"

"You'll see." Brian hung up the phone then because he figured it wouldn't be long before Justin got to the ground floor, and he was right. Thirty seconds later, the door opened and Justin barreled out of it, nearly knocking Brian over as he hugged him.

"Holy shit!" Justin exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

"What do you think? Visiting you."

"Are you by yourself?"

"Yes," Brian sighed, rolling his eyes. "Christ, you and Michael both. I'm a big boy."

"How did you get here? Did you drive all the way here?"

"Nope. Flew."

"How was it?"

"It was...interesting. And no, I don't want to talk about it. I want to talk about you. How was your opening?"

"It was great! Sold a few things, made some money, talked to some important people. I feel like I should invite you in, but…" Justin looked awkwardly back at the door.

"It's okay. I'm used to it. It sucks, but I'm used to it."

"Sorry. Hey, why don't we go grab some dinner and catch up? Where are you staying?"

"Midtown. I got a hotel room...I think we can make pretty good use of the king-sized bed." Brian raised an eyebrow and grinned.

"I'll pack a bag then." Justin smiled. "Be right back...give me ten minutes?"

Brian nodded, and Justin turned and went back into the building while Brian rolled himself backward toward the wall to sit and watch the world go by while he waited. The sidewalk here wasn't quite as active as it had been in Midtown, but it was still much busier than the Pitts. There was a bakery on the ground floor of the building across the street, and a cafe with tables on the sidewalk next door to that. In this city, it seemed everything you needed could be acquired within a few blocks of home. Not at all like the suburban living he'd found himself resigned to as a result of this whole mess.

That's what it was: a goddamn mess. He'd be money ahead right now if he would have just kept the mansion in the country. Sometimes he still kicked himself over that - why had he decided to sell it in the first place? Why not just keep it, use it as a weekend getaway if he ever got Justin to come back for a visit? But no, he thought he'd protect his assets and try to get some of that money back, not knowing what rushing back to the city in the rain, going too fast, was going to cost him. He may have survived the accident, but sometimes he felt like a significant part of him died.

He was pondering that while watching a young woman walk a terrier mix across the street when Justin re-emerged with his familiar duffel bag.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Justin asked as he put his hand on Brian's shoulder, startling him.

"You don't want to know." Brian shook his head. "So what's good around here, food-wise?"

They ended up going to a small cafe a few blocks away that had killer soups and sandwiches, where they talked about Justin's art show and Brian's important meeting that had caused him to miss the opening.

"How'd your big presentation go?" Justin asked.

"Eh, okay I guess. I get so tired of feeling like people are fucking looking down on me, you know? It's like, yeah, I know, you see it...but seriously, it doesn't matter. It shouldn't matter. It doesn't affect my ability to do my job."

"Sounds like how I felt my first year at PIFA. Like, I can still make good art...I'm just doing it in a different way."

"And if you need two good legs to design an ad campaign, then you're a bad ad man to start with."

"So did you get the account?"

"Yeah, but I could tell they were apprehensive. Like they liked my ideas, but they weren't sure I could pull it off. Like somehow putting together a print-and-television campaign was going to require me running a marathon or something."

Justin took another bite of his sandwich and and nodded understandingly.

"You know, I've only been in this city for a few hours and I'm already loving how much easier it is for me to blend in. I don't know if it's the people or the fact that nobody here knows who I am, but it's kind of nice to not be noticed."

Justin laughed. "Whoever would have thought Brian Kinney would relish not being noticed?"

"It's one thing to be noticed for your sex appeal...and it's entirely another to be noticed for your disability," Brian said quietly as he ran his spoon idly through the soup that remained in the bottom of his bowl.

"I get it, Brian. I do." Justin reached across the table and took Brian's left hand. "But sometimes you just have to say, fuck 'em, and keep going. Do what you want. Prove them wrong."

"I try to, but sometimes I feel like I just can't shake it. Like it's suffocating me."

Justin took a deep breath and tightened his fingers around Brian's hand. "Then maybe it's not really them who's judging you. It's you."

Brian wasn't sure how to answer that, because somewhere deep down he knew Justin was right. How the fuck did this kid always have the ability to see right past his bullshit, even when he couldn't see past it himself? This had nothing to do with other people and everything to do with how he looked at himself now.

"So just say, fuck 'em," Justin continued. "And tell yourself that you're still Brian Fucking Kinney, the smartest, sexiest man I've ever known."

After dinner, they headed back to Midtown and Brian's hotel room, where they fooled around a bit, but Brian was too exhausted to do anything else.

"Sorry," he mumbled as he fought to keep his eyes from closing. "It's been a long day."

Justin ran his hands along Brian's shoulders and laid his head on Brian's chest, letting out a soft sigh. "It's okay." His lips bore a small smile as he looked up at Brian. "I just want to be together."

Brian felt Justin hug him closer as he let his eyes drift shut in his lover's embrace.

The last words that he heard before he fell into a deep sleep were Justin whispering, "I love you. No matter what."


	3. Invincible

" _You'll always be young, and you'll always be beautiful. You're Brian Kinney for fuck's sake!"_

Michael would never forget the day everything changed for his best friend. It was a Wednesday. He'd been having an average day at the comic book store, and some of the kids who regularly came in after school to read but never buy anything were starting to trickle in. He didn't mind them as much as some other business owners might; he had once been one of them. He got it.

Then around 3:30 p.m., his cell phone rang, which seemed strange. All of his friends and family knew exactly where he was from 10 a.m. to 6 p.m., Tuesday through Saturday, so they usually called the store phone. He pulled it out of his pocket and glanced at the caller ID, but he didn't recognize the number and almost let it ring out without answering. Curiosity about who it was and what they wanted got the best of him, though, and he picked it up on what would probably have been the last ring.

"Hello?"

"Hello, is this Michael Novotny?" a female voice asked.

"Yes it is. Who is this?"

"I'm calling from the emergency department at Allegheny General Hospital. We have a patient who was just brought in who has you listed as his emergency contact in his phone."

Now, there were a few people this call could have been about. His mother was out since the person at the hospital had already said "he." Michael's heart rate accelerated as he wondered if this call was about Ben or Hunter. He never expected it to be about Brian.

"Wh-who is it?" Michael stuttered, wanting to know but at the same time really, really not wanting to know, and hoping maybe this phone call was just part of some weird dream. Or a nightmare.

"Brian Kinney. He's been in an accident. It's fairly serious. If you could come down as soon as possible, we'd like to get some information from you."

From the moment she'd uttered Brian's name, Michael had felt like his ears were ringing and the world was spinning - the same had happened to him when he'd gotten a call that Ben had collapsed in the middle of class with pancreatitis a few years back. Michael didn't even know he was Brian's emergency contact, but he guessed it made sense, given that Justin was an entire state away. And Brian's blood family probably wouldn't have given a shit. So that left Michael.

He hurriedly told the schoolkids he was sorry but they'd have to leave, and flipped the "open" sign to "closed" as he locked the door and rushed to the hospital. He didn't even remember the drive there, but he was sure that he was going well over the posted speed limit.

For whatever reason, as Michael moved through the blur of the next few hours, flitting from moment to moment just trying to make sense out of what was going on, the thought never entered his mind to call Justin and let him know what was going on. Now, looking back, he guessed that on some subconscious level he didn't want to worry Justin until he knew more about Brian's injuries and his prognosis. He had only called Ben, who came and joined him in the waiting room about 30 minutes after Michael arrived, just as Michael was giving a small stack of paperwork to one of the administrative assistants.

"Any updates?" Ben asked as they sat down in the corner.

"No. All I know is that he wrapped the Corvette around a tree somewhere between West Virginia and here, and they brought him in by helicopter. They wouldn't let me see him. He's in surgery now."

"Jesus. It must have been really bad."

"I know." Michael took a deep breath, trying to keep it together because he knew this was one of the times when he needed to be strong for Brian, even if Brian wasn't in front of him right at this moment. Ben pulled him into a hug and rubbed his back.

"I'm sure they're doing everything they can," Ben said.

When Ben said that, it suddenly hit Michael that everything they could do might not be enough. He could lose his best friend, right here, right now.

They'd been like brothers since they were in junior high - sharing everything with each other, teasing each other, spending almost every waking moment together, even fighting like brothers do. Through the years, though, as they'd grown up and matured and their lives and circumstances had changed, they'd realized that you don't always have to see eye-to-eye with someone to love them anyway.

Michael still loved Brian, even if now it wasn't the same feeling that it had been for so much of their lives. He used to want to be with Brian in a much deeper way than Brian had ever wanted to be with him. But meeting Ben had changed Michael's life, and for that he was thankful. However, they wouldn't be together if it hadn't been for Brian, at least indirectly - because without Brian buying him the Captain Astro comic that Michael had sold to buy the store, he and Ben would never have met. So he was thankful for Brian as well. And how the stars had aligned to bring the right person into his life at the right time. He'd always loved Brian, and always would, but it was different from the love he had for Ben. Besides, Brian had Justin.

Tears stung in Michael's eyes and a few of them fell as Ben held him. Michael pulled away and swiped at his cheeks with the backs of his hands and took a deep breath. "No, no. I can't do that," he said. "I've got to be the strong one right now. That's how this works. It's our thing."

"Michael, it's okay to cry," Ben said as he took Michael's hand. "You love him. He's hurt. You're scared. And that's okay. You don't have to pretend to be anything else."

Ben wrapped his arms around Michael again, and Michael sagged into his husband's embrace, his breath hitching with quiet sobs.

For the next two hours, Michael alternated between sitting and pacing as they waited for an update and prayed it would be a good one.

Finally, a dark-haired man in scrubs who looked to be in his mid-40s walked up to them and asked if they were here for Brian Kinney. Michael nodded, and the man shook his hand and introduced himself as Dr. Kline, a neurologist.

Immediately, Michael's mind went right back to when Justin was bashed, and the days he'd spent sitting in this very room with Brian, waiting to hear if Justin was going to live or die. A neurologist was coming to talk to him about Brian? Shit. He barely managed to bring his attention back and stand up when the doctor cleared his throat and started to speak.

"Mr. Kinney sustained a spinal cord injury in the accident, due to fractured vertebrae at T12 and L1. It appears to be a complete injury, but we won't know that for sure until he's awake and his body has had some time to resolve the swelling in the area. In short, he's paralyzed from the waist down. It's likely permanent. I've been working in the OR with Dr. Martinez, an orthopedic surgeon, to stabilize his spine. She's finishing up now. We don't anticipate any further complications as of right now. It is a long road to recovery, though."

Michael felt like someone could have knocked him over with a feather. The doctor's voice seemed to be echoing in his head, sounding very far away. He was relieved that Ben was there to keep a level head, as always, because right now Michael wasn't sure he could get any words out. He was barely comprehending what was being said.

"Does he have any other injuries?" Ben asked.

"Not as far as we can tell, just some minor cuts and scrapes and a lot of bruising. He's very lucky. It could have been much worse."

"When can we see him?" Michael finally found some words.

"I'd anticipate we'll probably have him in a room in the ICU within the hour. We'll keep him there overnight, probably until sometime tomorrow so we can monitor him more closely. I'll have someone come and get you when he's settled."

"Thank you doctor," Ben said as he shook the doctor's hand again before the man turned to go.

Michael sank back into his chair and put his head in his hands.

Ben put his arm around Michael's shoulders reassuringly. "He's alive," Ben said simply. "We know he's alive. Let's be grateful for that." Zen Ben.

During the next hour, Ben tried to force Michael to eat some peanut butter crackers and drink some water, but Michael didn't feel like he could stomach anything right now. He was still coming to terms with the idea that the man he'd patterned a comic-book superhero after, his best friend who had always seemed larger than life, strong, even invincible, was probably facing permanent, life-altering disability. Michael couldn't wrap his head around it. It didn't seem possible. This had to be a nightmare that Michael was going to awaken from soon. It just had to be.

After what felt like forever, a nurse finally came to lead Michael and Ben upstairs to the third floor, and the room where Brian lay flat on his back in the bed, with all sorts of wires connected to him, tied to monitors that were constantly beeping and flashing and changing, and two IVs stood dripping slowly into the back of Brian's hand. He was breathing on his own, which was a relief. Michael could see that most of the left side of Brian's face was starting to darken into a bruise, and there were a few small cuts that had been stitched and bandaged on his face as well. Michael just hoped they wouldn't leave scars; he knew Brian wouldn't handle that very well.

Hell, how would he handle any of this? Michael had an inkling that it probably wouldn't be good.

Ben's hand stayed on Michael's shoulder as they moved into the room.

"He's still under sedation right now and we'll be keeping him on some very powerful pain medication for the next several days, so he'll probably be a little groggy when he wakes up," the nurse explained as she studied one of the monitors and laid the call button at the head of the bed. "If he needs anything when he wakes up, just press this button to call us, okay?"

"Thank you," Ben said, continuing to be Michael's proxy, as the nurse turned and left them alone with Brian. Michael was really, really glad Ben was here.

They'd been sitting and talking quietly in the two chairs under the window in Brian's ICU room for about half an hour when Brian suddenly gasped and started trying unsuccessfully to sit up in the bed, a panicked expression on his face.

Ben practically jumped out of the chair and immediately put his hands gently-but-firmly on Brian's shoulders to keep him still, while Michael came around to the other side of the bed to talk to his friend in the most soothing voice he could manage at the moment, which probably wasn't very soothing at all.

"Hey, hey...it's me...shh...you're okay...don't try to sit up, okay? Just relax." Michael was running his hand through Brian's hair, brushing it off his forehead as if he was a feverish child. Michael didn't know why he was doing that; it just seemed like the right thing to do right now.

Brian squeezed his eyes shut and was breathing hard, but he did appear to be calming down a bit, so Ben relaxed his grip.

"What's wrong with...my legs?" Brian managed to choke out between heavy breaths.

Michael and Ben exchanged a look, and again Ben took the lead.

"What are you feeling, Brian?"

"Are they still fucking there?" Michael almost laughed out loud at that, regardless of how inappropriate it would have been at that moment. Only Brian Kinney would manage to be not only fairly lucid, but cursing, just after surgery.

"Yes, they're there." Ben was still the picture of calm, cool, and collected, answering the question matter-of-factly as if Brian had asked about the weather. "Are you in pain?"

Brian nodded slightly and squeezed his eyes shut tighter.

"Okay, I'm going to call the nurse." Ben pushed the call button while Michael wondered who was going to have to explain this whole situation to Brian. He hoped it wasn't going to be him. "Just breathe, okay?" Ben said.

"Okay," Brian exhaled, and Michael could tell he was battling to make it slower than it ended up being. "What the fuck happened?"

Neither of them had time to answer before a nurse walked briskly into the room and approached the bed.

"Good to see you're awake, Mr. Kinney," she said brightly, calmly, even though the current atmosphere in the room was anything but calm.

"My fucking back...is fucking...killing me," Brian growled between breaths that were still too rapid, not waiting for her to ask what he needed.

"Sorry about that. That's just Brian," Michael muttered at the nurse, apologizing on Brian's behalf if she was offended by his blunt language.

She seemed unfazed, though, and continued right on: "Can you tell me on a scale of 1 to 10 how severe it is? One being slight and 10 being the worst pain ever?"

"Nine," Brian choked out, opening his eyes just long enough for Michael to see that they were wet with tears. It hurt Michael, too, seeing his best friend in so much pain. Michael took Brian's hand and gripped it tightly, wishing there was more he could do.

"Okay, Mr. Kinney, I'm going to increase the dosage of your pain medication, and I'm going to give you a sedative to help you relax." She was already manipulating the control panel on the IV as she spoke, her tranquil, even tone the exact opposite of Brian's urgent, unsteady one. "Just rest; I'll be right back."

Brian didn't ask about what had happened again, and it wasn't long before the nurse returned with a syringe full of liquid that knocked Brian out within a couple of minutes.

"So are we supposed to be the ones to tell him?" Michael asked Ben, his voice barely audible. "Because I don't think I can do that."

It turned out that Dr. Kline was who got the honors of telling Brian his fate the next morning, when his pain was a little better managed and he seemed more aware.

But the entire time the doctor was talking to him, Brian had been staring straight up at the ceiling, his eyes and expression totally blank. He didn't say a word. His only movement was blinking occasionally. Michael wasn't even sure his friend was listening, to be honest. He looked almost catatonic.

Dr. Kline gave Brian the same information he'd given Michael and Ben in the waiting room the day before, and told him that they'd fused together six of his vertebrae to stabilize his spine. They'd talk more about what came next in the coming days, but for right now, Brian's main job was just to rest. Michael already knew that wasn't something Brian Kinney did very well.

"I know this is all very difficult to hear," Dr. Kline continued. "But at this injury level, you'll still be able to be functionally independent. I want you to know that. I have a lot of paraplegic patients who are doing great things with their lives."

Brian still didn't respond.

After the doctor left, Michael leaned forward in his chair and put his hand over Brian's.

"Did you hear that? He said you'll still be independent." Michael felt extremely awkward saying that to his best friend after he'd just gotten what was likely the worst news of his life, but they were the only encouraging words Michael could muster at the time, even if they didn't feel very encouraging.

"I was listening," Brian said softly, his voice flat.

"Are you okay?"

"I don't know." Brian paused and inhaled deeply. "No. Probably not."

Brian spent most of the rest of his second day in the hospital asleep, or at least pretending to be. Michael could tell the difference, but he wasn't going to hassle Brian about it. He knew his friend probably just wanted to shut out the world right now, in true Brian Kinney fashion. So Michael was just going to be here. He'd decided to close the shop for a few days so he could do just that.

The only time when Brian was forced to acknowledge he was awake was every couple of hours when a nurse would come in to help him turn onto one side or the other, propping his body up with pillows. She said it was to prevent bedsores, since Brian was essentially bedridden at this point. Far from the man Michael had once thought seemed invincible.

Michael could tell by the way Brian's breathing changed how much pain he was in every time they came in to move him, but neither of them mentioned it. It was as if neither of them wanted to admit that this was reality.

At one point just after a nurse left the room, Michael had asked Brian if he wanted him to call Justin in New York and let him know what had happened. Brian had refused.

"No," he'd said. "I don't want him worrying about me."

Michael had tried to argue, but Brian closed his eyes and didn't respond, effectively shutting Michael down. Briefly, he'd considered doing it anyway, but going against his best friend's wishes wasn't exactly Michael's thing, and he wasn't going to start doing it now. Not when Brian was lying in a hospital bed, in pain, with so many unanswered questions hanging between them about what would happen next and how things would be from now on. Maybe Brian just needed some time to digest things on his own, before Justin entered the picture. They moved Brian to a regular room around dinnertime, and Michael moved with him. They still didn't speak, about Justin or anything else.

When 10 p.m. came around, Michael knew he needed to go home and get some sleep, so he started packing up the catalogs and order forms he'd brought with him so he could at least do some work while he sat in Brian's hospital room. As he slid the last book into the bag, he looked up and was surprised to see Brian's hazel eyes staring back at him. He'd been lying on his side, facing Michael, for the last hour, but this was the first time he'd opened his eyes and looked at him.

"Hey," Michael said, taking a step forward to get closer to the bed. He gently laid his hand on Brian's forearm that was resting on the pillow in front of his torso. "I'm going to go home and get some sleep...it's late. I'll be back in the morning."

Brian nodded almost imperceptibly and swallowed.

"Will you be okay?" Michael asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "I can stay if you want me to."

"No," Brian spoke for the first time since he had refused to let Michael call Justin. "Go home, Mikey. I'll be alright."

Michael wasn't sure if Brian was trying to convince him, or himself.

Day three wasn't much different from day two, except Brian did a little less pretending to be asleep and more staring at the ceiling, the wall, and out the window. He still didn't seem to want to talk, except to tell Michael he didn't want any other visitors, and he still didn't want Michael to call Justin, so Michael continued working through his stack of catalogs, trying to decide what new comics to order for the store. The nurses continued rotating Brian periodically, as if he were a rotisserie chicken. At one point, they changed the bandage on the surgical incision on Brian's back, which made Michael cringe when he saw the size of it. No wonder it was painful. He held Brian's hand while they taped a new one down, squeezing it when he could tell his friend was struggling not to cry, trying to keep up the mask of the invincible Brian Kinney who didn't feel pain. Who didn't feel feelings at all.

On day four, Brian broke the silence.

"I want to call Justin," he said.

Okay, Michael thought to himself, that's good. Maybe he just wants to tell Justin himself.

Michael retrieved Brian's cell phone from where it sat on a table, alongside the other items that had been removed from his pockets when he'd been admitted to the hospital - his wallet, a pair of sunglasses, a nice pen, and a set of keys. Michael handed Brian the phone, watched him dial, and then sat and listened to Brian's side of the conversation as he and Justin basically shot the shit, like Brian was sitting on the sofa at the loft having a beer and not lying in a hospital bed with a broken back. Now that Brian was saying more than a few words at a time, Michael could hear that he was slurring his words a little, sounding slightly drunk under the influence of the pain medication. Michael wondered if Justin would notice that. He'd probably just think Brian was actually drunk, even if it was the middle of the afternoon. After all, that hadn't exactly been too uncommon in the months since Justin had moved to New York. But Michael didn't know if Justin was aware of that or not.

Brian talked to Justin about Gus and the family and work and art, just like everything was totally normal. Move along, nothing to see here. He said goodbye and hung up without ever bringing up the fact that he'd been in an accident and his life was going to be changed forever.

Michael was staring at Brian in disbelief and confusion as his friend hung up the phone and handed it to him.

"What?" Brian said.

"You didn't tell him." Michael could hear the edge creeping into his own voice.

"Why should I? He's in New York. He can't do anything about it," Brian said as he pulled a pillow out from behind him and let himself roll slowly onto his back, wincing a little as he moved.

"He's your partner; he deserves to know." God, if that phrase didn't sound familiar. Too familiar. Michael had hoped he wouldn't ever have to say it again, once Brian had finally acknowledged his feelings for Justin. But, here they were.

"Not anymore." Brian blinked slowly as he turned his head slightly to look at Michael.

"You almost got married, for Christ's sake. I'd say at the very least you're still good friends. He deserves to know."

"I don't want him worrying about me," Brian repeated what he'd said to Michael each time he had offered to call Justin.

"Do you have any idea how pissed he's going to be at you when he finds out? And he's going to. You can't just keep this a secret forever. His family still lives in Pittsburgh. He's still a part of our little family. He'll be back for visits. You're going to run into him eventually. Do you really want to have to try to explain yourself then?"

"I don't want to talk about it, Mikey," Brian said wearily as he closed his eyes. "I'm tired."

The next day, Brian's demeanor changed considerably, and what had seemed to be a subtle, silent denial over the past few days morphed into unequivocal anger. Anger at Michael, anger at the nurses, at the doctors, at being stuck in bed, at having to have people help him take care of his basic needs, just anger at the whole situation. Michael didn't really blame him; if their roles were reversed, he was pretty sure he'd be angry too. But this wasn't the same sort of anger that had inspired Michael and Justin to name their superhero Rage - explosive, shouting, throwing things sort of anger. This was quiet, cutting, smoldering - a slow burn. And it was palpable.

Michael had tried to keep his mother at bay, since Brian had told him he didn't want any other visitors, but he knew that he would only be able to keep her away for a few days before she refused to listen. Day five was the day she came. It probably would have been better for her to come when Ignore-the-Problem Brian was around, instead of this seething version, but maybe Angry Brian could use some tough love from Debbie Novotny. Regardless, Michael knew that was exactly what Brian was about to get.

His mother had breezed into the room with two boxes from the diner - no doubt containing a turkey sandwich, no mayo, and a lemon bar - and deposited them on the bedside table before making her way to the bed and leaning down to deposit a kiss on Brian's cheek. She was quick about it, which meant he didn't manage to turn away in time.

"Hi, sweetheart, how are you feeling?" she said as she brushed a stray lock of hair from Brian's forehead. Michael now knew where he'd learned that move. Brian moved away from her touch.

"Like shit. Don't call me that. I'm not a kid. What the fuck are you doing here anyway?" Brian settled his penetrating gaze on Michael. "I said I didn't want any more visitors."

"You know I can't stop her," Michael said, putting his hands up in mock surrender.

"That's right," Debbie said as she used her hand to pull Brian's chin around to face her again, more gently than she usually did. "I do what I want. Not what you tell me. And you know better than to try to keep me away when you're lying in a goddamn hospital bed. I practically raised you, you little shit."

Brian didn't say anything. He didn't turn his head away again, but he looked straight past Debbie and seemed to be refusing to look her in the eye.

"I said I didn't want any more visitors," he repeated, keeping his tone even, but clearly perturbed.

"Well, you'd better get used to me, because I'm not going anywhere, kiddo," Debbie said as she took a seat in a chair next to Michael. She gestured toward the food she'd brought. "Thought you'd like something other than hospital food."

Michael braced himself for the battle of wills that he was sure was about to take place. His mother and Brian were both equally stubborn and hard-headed, but Michael had witnessed enough of these battles to know that his mother usually won. Sometimes it seemed like Brian was as much her son as Michael was, and she was always offering her motherly insight to Brian, in her own no-nonsense way, of course, whether he wanted it or not. And with Brian in the mood he was currently in, there was no telling how this was going to go.

They all three sat in silence for some time, before Debbie spoke up.

"I know you're angry, Brian. You're thinking this isn't fair. Wondering why this happened to you. You want to scream and cry, but you never do those things because they'd mean showing other people that you have feelings. You're scared. And you're taking it out on everyone else because you're trying to hide the fact that you're afraid. I know you too well to think that this silent treatment you're giving us is anything but that."

"You don't know shit."

"You can be as cruel to me as you want, honey, that's fine...doesn't hurt my feelings any. But we both know you wouldn't have said that if you didn't know I was right."

Brian didn't have a response for that. Michael was a little surprised that his friend wasn't fighting back.

"I know you put up with a lot of shit when you were a kid, a lot of shit that no kid should ever have had to deal with. And that's why I've treated you as if you were my own for the past 20-some-odd years. I love you, kid. And I know you love me too, even if you'd never say it. I know how much baggage that word...that feeling...has for you. How much pain. But we all love you, and we all want to be here for you. You need to let us."

Brian looked like he'd been deflated. When he spoke, his tone had changed from bitter to uncomfortable, on the edge of ashamed, and his voice was quiet. "I don't want anyone to see me like this."

"Like what? Like someone who needs a little help for a while? We all do, sometimes. And guess what? Even Brian Kinney isn't invincible."

Brian snorted and turned his head to the left, so that he was facing away from them, and Michael knew it was Brian's way of shutting down the conversation. But he didn't call him out on it.

"Thanks for the food," he heard Brian say in a hushed tone. The sudden politeness was a clear departure from the irritation he'd displayed all day thus far, and it reminded Michael of a little boy trying to be get back on his parent's good side after misbehaving. In a way, Michael guessed it was. "I'm not very hungry right now. I want to sleep for a while."

So Brian feigned sleep, his face still turned away, while Debbie and Michael talked softly in the chairs by the window, but Michael could tell from his friend's breathing that he wasn't asleep - he was crying. He was sure that his mother had noticed it as well. They'd both seen it before, but not in a very long time. His mother probably not since they he and Brian were kids. And just as Michael and Debbie had learned to do back then, they resisted the urge to comfort him, instead letting him have his privacy. They both knew that was probably the only way he'd ever let it out.

The next few days were relatively uneventful. The bruises on Brian's face and body were lightening, and the stitches were removed from the small cuts on his face. Dr. Kline and Dr. Martinez were both pleased with Brian's recovery so far, and they started talking more about next steps - namely, getting Brian into an inpatient rehab facility within the next week. They fitted Brian for a custom-molded brace that was designed to protect and support his back as it healed, and that meant he could start sitting up whenever he wanted. Brian bitched about how uncomfortable it was, but Michael could tell he was relieved to not have to be lying down all the time, except for the slight incline of the bed he'd been allowed to have at mealtimes. Besides, bitching Brian was a lot more like normal Brian, and that was a good sign too.

And then came the visit from Joan Kinney. It was Wednesday afternoon, and Ben was sitting with Michael in Brian's room when she strode in, all on her moral high horse. She railed at Brian about how he'd deserved this - how he'd basically asked for it with his sinful behavior all of these years. He'd brought it on himself. Michael wasn't even sure how she'd learned Brian was here or what had happened, but he wondered if it had anything to do with his mother, just like it had when Brian had cancer. Then again, Brian was a prominent Pittsburgh business owner now, so it was possible that the news was making its way through the grapevine. Either way, she was here now, and she was raking Brian over the coals while he sat and stared at her. She never gave him an opportunity to get a word in edgewise - she just kept going on and on about God and Leviticus and sodomy and sin and punishment and how Brian could change. And Brian sat there and took it. But Michael could see the fury starting to smolder in his friend. The slow burn.

Michael wanted nothing more than to get up and punch her lights out on his best friend's behalf, but Ben was holding him down. When she strode out of the room as quickly and haughtily as she'd come in, Michael wanted to follow her and give her a piece of his mind, or his fist, but Ben grabbed his hand and pulled him back down.

So he turned his attention back to his best friend, whose mother had just proven yet again how unworthy she was of the word.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Michael. Why wouldn't I be?" Brian spat the words out like they tasted sour. The question was simple, but Michael knew the answer was complicated. He could see the fury giving way to hurt in Brian's eyes as he looked away - the same hurt Michael had seen over and over again when they were kids. It was clear that on some level, Brian still craved his mother's affection, even after all these years. Even if he'd never admit it. He wanted her to love him in the way a mother should love her son. Unconditionally.

Later that evening, Brian called Justin again. And they talked about mundane bullshit, again. And again, Brian never mentioned what was happening.

When Michael confronted him about it, Brian said simply: "I needed to feel like everything was okay. Like I'm still the same person."

Fuck if Michael couldn't argue with that logic - that need - even if he did really wish Brian would come clean with Justin, so Justin could help him get through this.

Brian spent four weeks in rehab after leaving the hospital, learning new ways to do a lot of things that most people take for granted. Michael still remembered the first time he walked into his friend's room and saw him sitting in a wheelchair. He was in front of a small desk, doing something on his laptop. Probably working even though Ted and Cynthia had told him not to worry about Kinnetik, to focus on himself for a little while. It was different from when he'd been in the hospital, lying in bed, or from when they'd discharged him with the normal chariot ride out the door that everyone who has ever been discharged from a hospital has gotten. This was the new normal. Michael still wasn't sure he was going to be able to reconcile the Brian he'd known for the last 21 years with this one. But he knew he had to try.

"Hey Mikey," Brian had said, squirming a little like he was uncomfortable. Michael wondered if it was physical or mental. Could be either. Or both. He had on jeans and a t-shirt and was barefoot - his usual uniform any time he wasn't at work or going out. A little piece of normal in a situation that felt so strange, so surreal.

"Hey yourself...I see you're up and around already." Michael tried to act nonchalant.

Brian shrugged. "Better get used to it, I guess. It's weird. But it's better than being stuck in bed."

Michael nodded. "I'm sure." He held out the bag he'd been holding. "Ma sent some food. I know, big surprise. I'm pretty sure that's her cure for everything."

Brian laughed and smiled a little, turning back to his laptop. Michael had missed that laugh...that smile. "Yeah, I don't think a lemon bar is fixing this anytime soon. But I commend her efforts. Tell her I said thanks."

Michael stood by and watched as Brian plowed through the next four weeks of rehab with dogged determination. That was definitely the Brian he'd known since junior high - anything he did, he was going to do it right. Brian was always all-in, and failure was not an option. He finished everything he started. Of course, that stubborn streak also meant that Angry Brian would come to the surface when things didn't quite go as planned - when something was more difficult than Brian had anticipated or felt it should be.

Watching his best friend struggle with simple things was the hardest part of this for Michael. He wanted so badly to help, but every time he tried, Brian would push him away - literally and figuratively. Michael wanted nothing more than to fix this, but he knew he couldn't. No one could.

Michael felt lost much of the time, not knowing what to do to help without making Brian mad, so he was thankful when his friend had assigned him a job: taking charge of packing up the loft apartment that had been Brian's home for the last 10 years, in preparation for a move to a wheelchair accessible apartment he'd found in the suburbs. At the same time, it made Michael incredibly sad to see his best friend being forced to leave behind a significant part of himself. A part of himself that he'd taken such pride in.

But they'd packed up Brian's things, and Michael had sat with Brian while he met with a Realtor in the empty dining room of the rehab facility, signing papers. Brian had been adamant that Jennifer Taylor wasn't going to be the one listing the loft for sale this time. He still hadn't told Justin about any of this. And Michael was still a little peeved at Brian for shutting Justin out. Michael had tried to bring it up again, offered to be the one to give Justin the full picture of what was happening in Brian's life. But Brian was still refusing, and now he was threatening to not see Michael anymore if he didn't stop harping on it. So Michael figured he'd better let it go for the time being, even if it was damn near impossible to do so.

The whole gang had been there the day they moved Brian into his new apartment in the suburbs - God, those words felt so strange moving through Michael's head. But this was Brian's new life, and it was going to be different. There was no getting around that.

They all spent the day moving furniture around and unpacking boxes, with a noticeable tension present as they all tried to navigate the murky waters of helping-without-being-too-helpful, because no one wanted to send Brian into a rage that would have him booting them all out of the apartment and insisting upon doing all of this himself. The harsh truth was that he wasn't physically capable of doing it all himself, but of course Brian would never admit that. Hell, it was hard for Michael to admit it too.

While Brian had spent the last month learning how to take care of himself, Michael felt like he himself had spent the last month learning who his best friend was now. Maybe who he'd be from here on out. The pages of the Kinney Operating Manual had been burned into Michael's brain for so many years, unchanged, save for the few times when Justin had managed to break through Brian's wall and force him to show a new side of himself. Now there were whole new chapters, revisions, rewrites. And Michael was still struggling to figure out where to paste in the new pages.

Over the previous week or so, Michael had noticed that Angry Brian was starting to give way to a new version of his best friend - this one a bit more quiet, and kind of down. Silently reflective. A little depressed. Reluctant to talk about it.

So Michael wasn't surprised when he walked into the bedroom as the others were finishing unpacking boxes in Brian's new kitchen, and found his friend sitting in front of the patio door, looking outside. Michael approached his friend from behind and laid his hands on Brian's shoulders, startling him out of his reverie.

"Sorry," Michael said. "I thought you heard me come in. You alright?" That question had always been a loaded one when it came to Brian Kinney. Michael didn't know if now would be one of the times when Brian would push him away and shut him out, or if he'd actually let Michael into his thoughts this time, but Michael was willing to take the gamble.

"Yeah. Just thinking."

Michael waited for Brian to continue, hoping that he would. The silence between them stretched to nearly a minute before he did.

"It's weird, you know? Like I'm being thrown back into my life. Like I've had this pause, this break in the action, and now it's time to get back. And I should be happy about that, getting back to normal. But it doesn't feel normal at all. But what is normal? I feel like I'm different now."

"I don't think anyone expects you to be exactly the same, Brian. You've been to hell and back. That changes a person."

Brian shrugged. "I guess so."

But even though on the surface Brian was different, and a little bit underneath, at his core he was still the same person Michael had known for more than two decades. And Michael was sure that a lesser man would have come through this experience much differently than Brian had. He was still the iron-willed, incredibly strong, seemingly invincible person that Michael had always felt lucky to know.

They fell back into their comfortable, familiar friendship as their lives both returned to normal - or as normal as they could be at that point. Brian went back to work, and Ted said he was still the same as he ever was - yelling at interns, ordering people around, charming clients, and generally being the adept businessman that he always had been. Michael was back to spending 8 hours a day, five days a week at the comic book store, and the temporary employee he'd hired to help fill in the gaps for the past month and a half was gone.

In spite of all of this normalcy, Michael still felt like something was off with Brian. He felt like he was the only one noticing it - and he probably was, since the only person who knew Brian better than Michael was Justin, who still didn't freaking know. Michael had noticed the internal struggle that Brian had anytime he was out in public. The way his eyes would darken when he found he could no longer go somewhere that he'd been going for years, because they didn't have an accessible entrance. The way he'd bristle when people they'd known for years would approach him and ask him how he was doing.

They'd been sitting together at the diner having breakfast before work, business-as-usual, when Brian had suddenly said, "They feel sorry for me."

"Who?" Michael was confused, particularly since Brian hadn't interacted with anyone except him and Debbie since he'd come into the diner fifteen minutes prior.

"They look down on me," Brian continued. "They're all judging me. All the time. And don't try to tell me they're not, because they are. I can see it in their eyes."

As much as Michael didn't want to admit it, he could see it too. And as he reflected on this, Michael realized that he also didn't want to admit that he'd probably been treating Brian differently as well. He tried not to - hell, he'd been trying not to since the beginning of this whole little adventure back in June - but it was hard to watch your best friend's entire life be turned upside down when there really wasn't a damn thing you could do to make it any better. And it was even harder to know that he was keeping the entire thing a secret from the one person in the world who deserved most to know and be able to be there for him.

So Michael had been relieved when he'd found out that Justin would be coming home for Christmas. And as apprehensive as he'd been on behalf of his friend, who was going to have to face a very delicate, difficult situation head-on, he was thankful that all of this would finally be out in the open. He just had to hope that Justin would forgive Brian for lying to him for six months. That was what he'd been discussing with Ben in the diner on December 23rd when Justin had walked in.

Christmas came and went, Justin had forgiven Brian, and Michael could see his friend finally beginning to actually return to normal, instead of the shell of his former self that he'd been for the past six months. Two weeks after the holiday, he'd stopped by Kinnetik to see if he wanted to grab dinner somewhere, and found Brian's office unoccupied. So he sought out Ted, to see if Brian had gone home early, and found out he'd flown to New York to see Justin. Alone.

As much as Michael wished he could have been there to support his friend, a part of him knew why Brian needed to do this by himself - he needed to prove to himself and to the world at-large that he was still an adult who could manage himself. And Michael knew in that moment that he needed to realize that about his friend as well.

Michael walked out of Kinnetik that day smiling at the thought of two lovers reunited again - his best friend and the boy he'd plucked from under a streetlight on Liberty Avenue six years ago. No, not a boy now, a young man. The young man who had fundamentally changed his best friend for the better. The young man who, he was sure, could take this new version of Brian Kinney and make him see that he still had all of his powers.

And that appeared to be exactly what had happened, Michael thought as he sat with Brian at the diner on a Monday afternoon, his best friend's eyes looking brighter and clearer than they had since June. His smile met his eyes again.

"I guess I don't have to ask if you had a good time in New York," Michael laughed as he sipped his water.

"The best time. The absolute best."

"Well, I'm glad. You deserve it."

They ordered lunch and caught each other up on their weekends just as they'd done for years. It truly felt like old times. Like nothing had changed at all. Michael was grateful to see his friend finally starting to emerge fully from the protective shell he'd encased himself in six months before.

And then Brian dropped a bomb on Michael as he finished the last bite of his sandwich. He said it so casually, like it was nothing at all - just a mildly interesting tidbit of news.

"I'm thinking of moving to New York."


	4. Let Go

" _If I stay here, I'm going to go out of my mind. Who knows what I'll become? … I want to become something different. Something new."_

"I'm thinking of moving to New York."

Brian mentioned it casually, on purpose, just dropping it into the conversation like some minor detail that didn't really matter. He also knew Michael well enough to know that it wouldn't matter how gently he said it or how much he prepared him, Michael was going to freak out.

And that's exactly what happened - Michael sat dumbfounded, staring at Brian with a look on his face that would have been more appropriate had Brian said he was going to run off with the circus and become the world's first paraplegic trapeze artist.

"What?" Michael sputtered as he threw the french fry he'd been holding back down on the plate. "One weekend there, and you're already planning to move?"

"Not planning. Not yet. I said thinking."

"Well, thinking, planning...what's the difference with you, really? Once you make up your mind about something, you're doing it."

"Good point."

"So are you doing it then?"

"I don't know."

Truthfully, Brian hadn't wanted to fly home the night before at all, and not just because of the whole fucking...process...that it was now. Two-and-a-half days wasn't nearly enough time to spend with Justin. He wondered how he'd made it through the past year without going insane. Maybe in some ways, he had gone insane. For the first few months after Justin left, he'd thrown himself into his work with an intensity that surpassed even his 22-year-old self when he'd first gotten the job at Ryder, straight out of college with his shiny, new marketing degree and his 4.0 GPA. Then, he was anxious to prove himself, to make his own way in the world so he could be absolutely sure he'd never need anything from his good-for-nothing parents again.

Twelve years later, he was again hyper focused on his work, spending most every waking moment thinking about how he could make his campaigns even more compelling, how he could score accounts he'd only dreamed of, this time as the owner of his own firm. Only this time, he wasn't running away from his family - he was running away from the feelings he had for Justin that he still couldn't let go.

That damn kid really had gotten in under the wire all of those years ago - Debbie had been right. God, it felt like that conversation at Woody's had been a lifetime ago. When she'd called him out on his typical Brian Kinney bullshit, he'd stopped just short of verbally admitting that he did, indeed, love Justin. He didn't have to say it out loud though, it was written all over his face and he knew it. She saw it. He knew she would. To be honest, he hadn't really tried to hide it from her, because he knew she'd see right through whatever front he tried to put up. She always did. She had known him too long, and regrettably, too well.

There had been many ups and downs, sure, but Brian had loved Justin in one way or another almost from the moment their eyes first met. He didn't know what it was - love at first sight, maybe. If you believe in that sort of thing. Brian still wasn't sure if he did or not. The kid just kept chipping away at the walls Brian had put up around himself - mostly around his heart - years ago as a measure of protection from the pain of loving and wanting to be loved.

Growing up, he had wanted so desperately for his parents to love him and approve of him and be proud of him. He craved their validation and their affection. But they constantly rejected him, made him feel worthless. His best efforts were never good enough, and that hurt. So he put up the walls. Michael had known him before the walls were fully constructed, so Michael was allowed inside, most of the time anyway, but anyone else who tried to force their way in, to make Brian Kinney feel something, found themselves immediately shut out. Brian Kinney didn't believe in love. He believed in fucking. Love was painful. Sometimes excruciating. Fucking was in and out with a maximum of pleasure and a minimum of bullshit.

He'd tried to shut Justin out many times, but he could never quite do it. Justin was already in.

Over the years, their on-again, off-again relationship had many times proven Brian's theory that love was really just pain, but damned if he didn't keep coming back for more. When it came to Justin Taylor, Brian Kinney was a masochist.

And when Justin left for New York - permanently - Brian dealt with the pain the only way he knew how: working, drinking, drugging and fucking. Five years ago, when Brian had been spiraling out of control with guilt and shame and blame over Justin's bashing, Michael was the only one who noticed that something-the-fuck was wrong. Brian knew it too, although he denied it. Last year, Michael either didn't notice, or he was too preoccupied with his family and his new suburban Stepford Fag life to care.

So yeah, maybe he'd gone a little bit insane last year. But he knew for sure he'd go insane this time, if he didn't find a way to get to New York for good.

The weekend had been amazing in so many ways, but it wasn't enough. He remembered five-and-a-half years ago, when he had stood in his bedroom at the loft and told Lindsay that he'd lose his mind if he stayed in Pittsburgh. New York was calling, and he was a shoe-in for the job, or so he'd thought. He'd told Justin that he wouldn't think of him, and that he hoped Justin would do the same. But it was clear what a line of bullshit that was when he took the kid in his arms and held him while he cried. Cried over the idea of losing Brian. Then the job fell through. Brian stayed in Pittsburgh, turned 30 in Pittsburgh, told Justin he wouldn't go to with him to the prom, went anyway, and, well...the rest is ancient history.

Brian had known he was head over heels for the kid the moment their lips connected as they leaned against the Jeep in that damn parking garage. Then love gave way to agony. And Brian Kinney swore off ever acknowledging his birthday again. It hurt too much.

Back then, he'd also told Lindsay that he wanted to be something new and different. He wasn't even sure what he meant by that when he said it. Regardless, he'd thought at the time that the only way to get that was to leave Pittsburgh. But ultimately, it was Justin who would transform him in a way he hadn't thought possible, even as much as Brian resisted it along the way. And then Justin ended up being the one leaving for New York. And Brian held him and fucked him - no, made love to him - and buried his face in his shoulder and tried not to cry. Months after that, Brian Kinney definitely became new and different, only in a way he'd never wanted to be. Who knew what he would become, indeed.

When Brian decided on the spur of the moment to go to New York, he had two reasons. One, he wanted - needed - to see Justin again. To feel him, touch him, be with him. Breathe again with him. Two, he had some shit to prove to himself, to his friends, and to the world. But mostly to himself.

He needed to prove that he could still handle himself. That he could manage on his own. That he wasn't worthy of pity. That he wasn't an object, or a child. That he was still strong. That he was still intelligent. That he wasn't going to break. That he really could fulfill that promise of independence his neurologist had once told him he'd have - that he had to grab ahold of, if he was ever going to do great things again in his life. The great things that other paraplegics were supposedly doing, according to the good doctor. Had he ever done great things? Brian didn't really know, to be honest. Why not start now?

Could he do great things in Pittsburgh? Maybe. But after this weekend, he wanted nothing more than to do them in New York.

He wasn't exaggerating when he'd told Michael he'd had the absolute best time. New York was so different from Pittsburgh. In Pittsburgh, people would notice him, see his wheelchair, judge him, treat him differently. In New York, people would overlook him, bump into him, act like he wasn't even there - and right now, he felt like that was a relief. It was exhilarating to be just another face in the crowd. At this point, he kind of liked the idea of feeling invisible.

After their dinner at the cafe in the East Village, Brian and Justin had gotten on the subway to head back to Midtown Manhattan. Now that Brian knew where he was going, he wasn't as apprehensive as he had been the first time. That was one thing he hated about this situation - the low-level anxiety he'd feel any time a new situation arose. It was one of the most un-Brian-Kinney-like qualities he'd developed since his accident - just a straight-up fear of the unknown, of getting himself into an embarrassing situation, or getting into something he couldn't get out of without help. Well, maybe that last part was something he'd always detested, but he didn't think he'd ever been afraid of it actually happening. Now, it was a distinct possibility, and he didn't like that at all.

He couldn't deny that having Justin there helped, because he knew Justin would help him if needed, without any judgment, without him having to ask. The only judgment there would be to worry about, would be Brian's judgment of himself. Of course, maybe that's all it really was anyhow - his judgment of himself, projected onto other people. Justin had brought that up at dinner, and Brian was still mulling it over, although he knew that it was probably true. Justin's insight into Brian's psyche was rarely wrong, even if sometimes Brian struggled to admit that he was right.

As they settled themselves aboard a northbound 6 train to head back to Union Square, Brian felt Justin's right hand come to rest on his left shoulder. It was a full train; there wasn't anywhere to sit, and the woman on Brian's right bumped into him involuntarily, nearly falling into his lap, as the train lurched forward, but she righted herself quickly. Brian reached up and laid his hand over Justin's.

They changed trains at Union Square and continued on to Midtown and Brian's hotel, with Justin letting Brian lead the way. Brian appreciated the subtlety of that action on Justin's part - now, most people seemed to automatically walk ahead of him. Just another way that people treated him like a child without realizing that's what they were doing. It felt odd, as a 35-year-old man, to feel like he was constantly having to reclaim his adulthood.

Brian pushed into the room and Justin followed him, setting his bag down in the armchair next to the television before turning back to Brian and bending down to kiss him - deeply.

"I've been waiting to do that all evening," Justin said after he'd pulled away and stood back to his full height, before sinking down to sit on the edge of the bed. Brian always appreciated when people would get eye-to-eye with him instead of standing over him. He still wasn't used to no longer being one of the tallest people in any room and any situation. Being roughly torso-level with people was strange and often awkward.

"Why didn't you? You know I love a good PDA."

Justin shrugged and looked away.

"You're the one who's always telling me that I'm still me," Brian said. "Now you're telling me that we could have been making out that entire subway ride and you were playing coy?" A wry grin broke out over Brian's face.

"Well, I have a reputation to uphold here. I didn't think it would be very becoming of an emerging serious artist to eat his boyfriend's face on public transit." Justin returned Brian's grin as he playfully kicked Brian's shoe with his toe.

A brief-but-uncomfortable silence settled between them at that word: boyfriend. It was a word that had always been a bit contentious where Brian and Justin were concerned. At first, Brian had rebuked any mention of anything that even remotely suggested they might be a couple, then slowly, he'd stopped correcting people when they'd refer to Justin as his boyfriend or partner, although he never said anything suggesting it himself. Until he asked Justin to marry him, and bought a country manor for his prince.

"So, we're still…" Brian let his voice trail off.

"Are we?"

"Do you want to be?"

"Do you?"

Brian wondered if they'd ever really stopped.

They showered separately that night, and Brian noted how strange it felt to be alone under the spray when Justin was on the other side of the wall. Two years ago, they never would have missed an opportunity to shower together. Now, he was guessing that Justin wasn't sure if Brian would want him in there or not. He did, but he also didn't want to make Justin uncomfortable by asking him to join him.

Then they settled into bed together, watching the news while propped up on pillows like some sort of old married couple. Brian could feel his eyes starting to close as exhaustion settled into his body and mind - the long day was catching up with him - but he didn't want to fall asleep yet. He wanted to spend every waking moment he could with Justin.

The younger man clicked the TV off and tucked himself under Brian's left arm. "This is nice," he sighed.

Brian agreed; it was nice, but it was definitely cuddling. Did this version of Brian Kinney cuddle? Yeah, maybe he did.

Perhaps out of a need to turn this situation into something deeper than just a cuddle, he didn't know for sure, Brian leaned his head down and captured Justin's lips in a passionate, hungry kiss. Justin returned the kiss and started letting his tongue slide down Brian's body as his adept artist's fingers skimmed over Brian's chest, caressing his nipples. Brian could feel arousal spreading through his body, but he knew it would stop short of where it really needed to go - where he wanted it to go. Damn his fucking broken nervous system. And damn the fact that he was so tired that he really didn't want to mess with the fucking pills tonight, or the headache they would give him after.

So he started turning the tables on Justin, pushing his palm against the bed to roll himself over so he could run his own tongue down Justin's smooth stomach, before pleasuring his partner in a different way. One that didn't involve pharmaceuticals, or Brian feeling inadequate. Or broken.

They'd fallen asleep in each other's arms that night. And the next. But Sunday night, Brian was back to being alone in his own bed in his apartment in the suburbs.

And as he lay there in the dark, on his stomach, hugging a pillow, he wondered if he could make it work. If he could finally pull off that move to New York he'd always wanted. He owned his own company now, but he wasn't sure if that would make things easier or more difficult.

By morning, as he showered and dressed for work, cursing the fact that it took him two full hours to get ready now because simple acts like putting on pants were now complicated acrobatic interludes, he was seriously considering the idea. Maybe he could work remotely, make himself a home office in a new apartment in New York...with Justin...and spend every other waking moment when he wasn't working and Justin wasn't creating, just being with Justin. Watching TV together, making dinner together...all of the domestic shit. Fuck if that wasn't quite the departure from the Brian Kinney of yesteryear. But he wasn't sure he cared about that anymore.

Brian spent most of the morning in a meeting with about half of his staff, discussing duties and assignments for the upcoming week. He did manage to keep his thoughts on task during the meeting, but as soon as he headed back into his office and settled behind his large desk, his mind was anywhere but where he knew it needed to be. When he couldn't take it anymore, he went out to Ted's desk and purposely bumped his chair into Ted's, startling the older man.

"Theodore...I have a proposition for you," Brian said as he pulled himself alongside Ted and threw an arm around Ted's shoulders.

"Gee, I didn't think I was your type, Bri," Ted teased.

"Not that kind of proposition."

"I figured as much. What's up?"

Brian took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Might as well just say it. "I'm thinking of moving to New York."

Ted raised his eyebrows and turned so that he was facing Brian. "Okay…" he said slowly, letting his voice trail off, as if he was waiting for Brian to continue.

"I know it's too early to start a branch office. We're not ready for that yet. But I'm wondering if I could work remotely...you know, teleconferencing and all of that. And it's only a 90-minute flight, so I could come back whenever I needed to, for meetings or...whatever."

"So I'm guessing your flights this weekend went okay, since you're willing to repeat the process? And you know you'd probably have to do it pretty frequently. We managed without you for six weeks, but it is kind of nice when our fearless leader is around to berate us and keep us in line."

"The flights were...eh...but I learned some things that I think will make it better next time." Namely, to book a seat in the first row so he might be able to avoid the fucking aisle chair entirely. He also wondered if he would get arrested if he had some fun with the security officers by moaning with pleasure while they were completing the obligatory pat-down. "Glad to hear you guys are motivated by my somewhat-aggressive management style." He grinned and snatched a pen from Ted's desk to fidget with while they talked.

"So do you think that would be do-able?"

"You working from the Big Apple while the rest of us poor schmucks are stuck here in Pittsburgh?"

"Yes."

"Well, if it's what you want to do, we both know I'm not going to stop you. You probably can do most of what you do here from New York. We'd miss you though. I'd miss you. As a friend."

Brian looked up at Ted and continued turning the pen from one end to the other, running his fingers from the top to the bottom before flipping it over and repeating the process. "I know," he said. "But I feel like I need to do this."

"To be with Justin?"

"That, and...other things." Brian paused to gather his thoughts before continuing. "I realized some things this weekend. Proved some things to myself. I think maybe being here is holding me back. Keeping me from, I don't know, embracing what is. Who I am now. Everyone here has this picture of me before, who I was once. I'm not that person anymore. But I think some people still expect me to be. And if they don't, they feel sorry for me that I'm not."

"I don't feel sorry for you. Or expect you to still be who you were before."

"I know that. I do. But I think sometimes you can't help it. There's always this...comparison. Regret, maybe. I don't know, maybe it's still just pity. You know who I used to be. You remember who I was. Only I don't think I want to be that person anymore. I used to think I did. A couple of months ago, I would have given anything to turn back the clock and go back to being who I was before. But now…" Brian wasn't sure how to finish that sentence, so he let his voice fade out.

Ted nodded. "I understand. I won't say I know, because I'm not sitting where you are. I haven't been through what you have. But I do know how life changes you. Makes you into someone you never thought you'd be."

Brian pulled his lips into his mouth and laid the pen back on Ted's desk. He'd said a lot more than he intended to when he came out here.

"Well, let me know what you think. If we could make it work," Brian said as he turned abruptly and went back to his office, where he poured himself a cup of coffee and wondered why he'd just practically poured his heart out to Ted Schmidt, of all people. Although he did have to admit, the pair had cultivated an unlikely and unconventional friendship - a camaraderie of sorts - over the years. And it was nice to have someone else to talk to besides Michael, who often managed to make everything about him somehow. Ted was even-keel; Michael was half-Italian and half-drag-queen, so he was slightly prone to drama.

Brian was able to get a little work done in the next hour, before he needed to leave for the diner to meet Michael for lunch. He didn't bother driving, since it was only a few blocks away and the whole process of getting in and out of the car wasn't worth the inconvenience. Michael had been standing outside waiting for him when he rolled up. Michael held the door for him and Brian resisted the impulse to act like a petulant child and tell him that he could do it himself. He was working on trying to delineate between someone just being polite and someone treating him like an invalid, and it turned out to be a much finer line to draw than he'd thought. But he was trying.

They chose a booth in the corner where Brian could slide onto the bench and push his chair against the wall, out of the way. Sometimes he just needed to sit somewhere else to feel like a normal human being. That was one thing that Michael did get, and respected.

Debbie brought them water and took their orders, and left the two friends to catch up on their weekends.

Brian kept up with the small talk while they ate, answering Michael's questions about his weekend in New York, trying to figure out whether or not to bring up the fact that he kind of wanted to be there all the time now. As he finished his sandwich, he figured it was as good a time as any, so he told Michael he was thinking of moving to New York.

Michael had freaked out a little bit, not as badly as Brian thought he might, although that could still be coming later. Mostly, his reaction had made Brian take a step back and wonder, was he really still just thinking about this, or had he made up his mind?

"So are you doing it then?" Michael had asked.

"I don't know." Brian paused. "Maybe. Probably. I need to do this...for me."

Pittsburgh had been his home for more than half his life. He hadn't even gone away to college. His friends were here - his chosen family. His company was here. For the most part, he'd thought his life would always be here. He'd resigned himself to that fact years ago, after the job in New York didn't work out. But there were things now that weren't here. First, his son was in Canada with his mothers, and Brian had only seen him three times in the past year. So that wouldn't really be much different if Brian was in New York. Most importantly, Justin wasn't here anymore. Brian had thought he could let Justin go - that he needed to let him go, give him a chance to be his own man, make his way for himself. Brian had understood that need, perhaps more deeply than anyone else ever could. He understood it even more so now. But over the past few weeks, he'd seen that he and Justin needed each other. They needed to be together. He needed to make that happen.

His life was here in Pittsburgh. But maybe it was time to let go. To step off into oblivion, cross his fingers, and hope for the best.


	5. Decisions

" _I don't want to be with someone who sacrificed their life and called it love...to be with me."_

On a Sunday afternoon in January, Justin Taylor stood in an airport terminal at JFK, watching to make sure Brian got through security okay. He wasn't even sure why he felt compelled to do that, but he hung back and tried to stay out of sight while he observed, until they pulled Brian aside and out of his view. Justin had wondered how all of that worked for Brian now, since he knew the metal detectors would essentially be useless for screening someone sitting in a wheelchair made of metal. He'd never gotten Brian to talk about what Friday's plane trip had been like, other than to say it was "interesting," and he didn't want to talk about it, so it remained one of Justin's many curiosities about Brian's life now that he was too embarrassed to ask about.

Just a few minutes before, once Brian had checked his bag and gotten his boarding pass, they'd shared a passionate kiss, either trying to make up for lost time or for the time they'd be missing in the future - Justin wasn't sure which, and he didn't really care. Then they had to part once again, going their separate ways back to their separate homes and separate lives.

Justin had often wondered what might have been if he had chosen to stay in Pittsburgh rather than moving to New York last year. If he and Brian had moved into the mansion in West Virginia together as husbands. Now that he knew what had happened to Brian as he was driving back to Pittsburgh after selling that house - the house in which they were supposed to begin a new chapter in their lives as spouses - Justin felt a slight sense of responsibility for Brian's accident. Like somehow this life-changing event could be traced back to their mutual decision that it would be best not to get married, and for Justin to move to New York to pursue a career as an artist. The dominoes had been set in motion in that moment, with that decision. The chapter they were supposed to have written together was replaced by two separate chapters, neither as good as Justin felt the original would have been. Brian's chapter certainly had quite the plot twist.

He hadn't been able to get Brian to tell him much about the time immediately after the accident. Brian didn't really seem to want to think about it, much less talk about it, which didn't surprise Justin at all, given how their dynamic had been right after the bashing. Back then, Justin had wanted and needed to talk about it and discuss his feelings about it, so he could process what had happened to him. But talking about it with Brian was off the table. Justin knew that Brian had been deeply affected by what happened on prom night as well, and he tried to respect that it was painful for Brian to think about it because he had witnessed it all and lived through the fear of not knowing if Justin would live or die. But in the end, Justin felt it would have helped them both if they'd been able to speak about it more openly.

Instead, Brian's mantra was always, "try not to think about it." It seemed that had become Brian's policy regarding his accident as well, at least to the extent that one could compartmentalize a disability that affects almost every aspect of your life and the way you move through the world. He just hoped that Brian wasn't going to experience the sudden, explosive resurgence of anger and desire for vengeance that Justin had when he'd joined the Pink Posse and came uncomfortably close to making the biggest mistake of his life, in the name of revenge.

Prior to that, the biggest mistake of his life had been leaving Brian for Ethan. Now, looking back, he could see that he'd been so wrapped up in his own romantic fantasy of what he thought love should be, that he'd completely ignored Brian's needs and desires, which should have been of equal importance to him. They hadn't been, though - all Justin wanted was a perfect love story worthy of a romance novel, and Brian hadn't been willing to play the part.

So Justin had run off to Ethan in search of his fairy tale, and it didn't take long for his supposed great love story to end in tragedy, with a side of anger and frustration. All because Justin didn't think Brian was doing enough to show he loved him - because Brian's ways of expressing love weren't the same as the ones in romance novels. But that didn't mean they weren't just as sincere. Maybe even more so, given that they came from a man who had once told him point-blank that he didn't believe in love. Justin knew now that Brian loved him, even if he didn't say it out loud very often. He'd heard Brian say the words, but he still found that Brian usually preferred to let his actions speak more loudly.

Now, he was wondering if the biggest mistake of his life hadn't been moving to New York and leaving Brian behind.

Justin continued standing in the terminal lobby for the next fifteen minutes, until he saw Brian emerge from an area he couldn't see, looking a little irritated, and presumably head off in the direction of his gate, oblivious to the fact that Justin was still there at all.

As Justin turned to walk back toward the airport train station where he could transfer to the subway, he wished that Brian could have stayed longer, or that he could have accompanied him back to Pittsburgh. It hadn't been nearly this difficult to be apart when they hadn't seen each other for months, but now that they'd seen each other twice in one month, Justin hated the idea of sleeping alone in his bed in the apartment he shared with Daphne's friend.

The subway ride back to the East Village was long, which gave Justin plenty of time to think about what a wonderful weekend this had been.

He remembered being confused and a bit worried when his cell phone rang and Brian's number lit up the display - it was Friday, and they had just talked on Wednesday morning, so this definitely wasn't their usual weekly call. His heart started pounding and his hands were shaking a little as he flipped open the phone and answered it, fearing that something was wrong with Brian or with another member of the family. But he decided to answer the phone with a jovial tone to cover his nervousness, as if that might ward off any bad news that was about to come forth: "Hey, old man, did you forget what day it is?"

Brian hadn't forgotten what day it was at all. He told Justin that he just wanted to talk to him, then asked if he was home and told him he might want to come outside. Fear was replaced with confusion as Justin left the apartment, shut the door, and continued down the stairwell, where Brian hung up on him when he was about halfway down. What the fuck was going on?

The second he hit the landing at the bottom of the steps on the first floor and looked out the large window that took up the top half of the door, confusion became elation. He couldn't get out the door and into Brian's arm's fast enough. He hugged Brian so fiercely that he almost knocked him over backward and had to quickly get ahold of himself and shift them both back upright so they wouldn't end up sprawled out in the middle of the sidewalk.

He'd been embarrassed at not being able to invite Brian inside, because there were fucking steps everywhere in this building, and to be honest, he was sick of walking up and down them himself. But Brian seemed to shrug it off and invited Justin to stay with him in his hotel room - an invitation that Justin was happy to accept.

The first night in the hotel, Brian hadn't exactly been 100% himself. Sometimes he was, but once they'd showered and settled in for the night, he'd gotten quiet, and Justin suspected he was in pain but wasn't going to say anything about it. He'd noticed Brian's left leg shaking a little against his own just after they got in bed, but neither of them mentioned it. Justin wrote it off as one of the muscle spasms Brian had mentioned when he was listing off everything that was unpleasant about his current condition, on their first night together in Brian's apartment.

Justin had been furtively watching Brian's face shift between discomfort and exhaustion for 30 minutes as they watched the news, when he decided to turn off the TV and try to do something to make Brian feel good. However, it ultimately ended in Brian turning the tables on him and sucking Justin off instead. It was amazing, as always, but Justin was wishing that Brian hadn't flipped over on top of him, stopping him from doing what he wanted to do for his lover - his partner.

They'd spent some time during the Christmas holiday working their way through being intimate together again, which had been great for him, and he hoped it had been great for Brian as well, although again, he couldn't get Brian to talk about it. Justin had more he wanted to try, but Brian had stopped him short, as if he was embarrassed. Justin wished he could do something to take away that feeling and reassure Brian that he was up for experimenting, and that sometimes failure was a necessary part of finding solutions. As usual, though, Brian wasn't leaving any room for failure.

The pair had all day Saturday to spend together, and they'd wanted to spend it enjoying the city. After breakfast at the restaurant on the ground floor of Brian's hotel, they'd headed out to Central Park, where they ended up sitting together on a bench at Strawberry Fields for a long time, listening to a man singing Beatles songs while he strummed a guitar. Colorful flowers had been strategically placed around the "Imagine" mosaic in the center of the circle of benches. Everything seemed so vibrant there, while at the same time full of reverence and reflection. It made Justin want to go home and paint, to create something of his own, but it would have to wait. His time with Brian was limited, and that made it precious.

They leaned into each other on the bench, their arms and hands intertwined, with Brian's empty wheelchair beside them. Justin wondered if sitting on the hard surface for so long was really the smartest decision for Brian, but he knew better than to express his concern. Since Brian wouldn't tell him much about what he needed now, beyond the frustrations he'd unloaded on Justin on Christmas Day, Justin had done some research on his own. Brian hadn't called him a public service announcement the night they met for nothing - Justin was always soaking up trivial, often useless knowledge about things.

His curiosity had gotten the best of him after he'd come home from his holiday visit, and he'd learned quite a bit thanks to the magic of the internet, although he was too nervous to actually use much, if any, of what he'd learned, because he knew Brian. Justin was well-acquainted enough with the Kinney Operating Manual to know that if let on that he knew too much or was worried about anything, Brian would probably start pushing him away. Justin had seen him do it with Michael more than once on Christmas Eve at Debbie's - prying his glass out of Michael's hand in the kitchen before nestling it between his thighs to transport into the living room himself, and shooting death glares at Michael any time he even looked like he wanted to get up and get something for Brian or otherwise offer any sort of assistance.

After they left Strawberry Fields, Justin and Brian spent some time wandering the many pathways that wound their way through the park, chatting as they went. Justin noticed that Brian was quite skilled at maneuvering his chair down the path and around obstacles or people who stopped to talk or look around; he made it look easy, although Justin was sure it probably wasn't. New habits, he guessed - Justin knew all about that, from having to retrain his right hand after the bashing. He still favored his left on many tasks that didn't require the use of his dominant hand, just out of habit, even though his hand had been mostly okay for a long time, as long as he wasn't trying to hold a pencil or a pen for too long. Justin fell into step beside Brian, letting him lead and set the pace. They were just two lovers taking a weekend stroll through Central Park, albeit slightly unconventional.

Soon, two hours had passed, although it felt like no time at all. Justin's stomach began to make itself known, and he suggested grabbing some lunch at a nearby deli. They ordered sandwiches at the counter, and Brian insisted on paying. Justin was silently thankful because he was having a hard time making ends meet, but he didn't want to admit that to Brian because he knew that would result in Brian trying to give him money, which he didn't really want at this point. He felt like he needed to stand on his own two feet here, and not depend on Brian to bail him out all the time like he had been ever since his father had kicked him out of the house when he was 17.

They chose a table and moved one of the chairs out of the way so Brian could pull up to the table while they waited for their order number to be called at the counter. Justin watched as Brian pushed his palms down on the tires and lifted his body up, letting it hang for a few moments before settling back down. Pressure relief, Justin knew. Another new habit. He just wasn't sure how to read the face Brian was making as he did it.

The pair ate their lunch and chatted a bit about the family - Michael had been working on a story for a new issue of Rage that he wanted Justin to start some drawings for, Ted and Blake had gotten engaged on New Year's Eve, and Emmett was up to his eyeballs in his party-planning business, which had become a smashing success. Deb was working herself too hard as usual, and Carl was trying unsuccessfully, as usual, to get her to slow down a bit and take care of herself for once instead of everybody else. Justin enjoyed catching up on the goings-on back home, even if it hadn't been that long since he'd seen everyone in person.

But as they made small talk, Justin couldn't quite turn his thoughts away from something he'd been pondering since Christmas: why Brian hadn't been honest with him sooner. The more time he'd had to think about it, the more it upset him, although he was trying not to let Brian know that. Justin felt guilty feeling upset about it at all. Brian was the one who'd had his life turned completely upside down, not Justin. Justin felt like he didn't really have a right to be mad about it, given that Brian was the one who had to live with it every day.

He understood what Brian had said before about why he hadn't told him: Brian liked feeling normal, like nothing had changed, when they talked once a week. But Justin couldn't shake the fact that he was upset that Brian hadn't let him show up for him, support him, just fucking be there. He hadn't given Justin the opportunity to be his partner through this experience, much like when he'd shut Justin out when he had cancer. Only this time, Justin couldn't do what he knew was right in spite of what Brian thought, because he'd been kept completely in the dark.

Justin knew how desperately he had wanted Brian to be there when he was in the hospital after the bashing - to actually be there, not just sneaking in at night to watch him sleep and swearing the nurses to secrecy. He knew what it would have meant to him to have Brian there when he was awake and aware. Why hadn't Brian felt the same, and wanted Justin there for him?

About halfway through lunch, Justin decided he couldn't skirt the issue any longer. He needed Brian to know how much he wanted to have been there, and how much it hurt him that he hadn't been allowed to be, simply because he didn't know.

"I wish you would have told me everything when we talked while you were in the hospital," Justin said. "So I could have come home to be with you."

"What for? There was nothing you could have done."

"I could have been there for you. Held your hand, if you wanted."

Brian grunted and shook his head slightly as he looked down at his plate.

"Not that Brian Kinney would ever want such a thing," Justin added quickly. Can't forget the Kinney Operating Manual.

"I didn't want you worrying about me."

"I care about you. Sometimes worrying is part of that, and that's okay."

Brian sighed. "I fucked up my own life, Sunshine. There was no point in fucking yours up too. You needed to stay here and keep doing your thing, and not be distracted thinking about me."

"Brian, I love you. You were hurt. I'm sure you were in a lot of pain. I know Michael was there for you, and I'm glad he could be… But I wish you would have given me an opportunity to be there for you too. You made the decision for both of us. You shut me out by not telling me."

Brian looked down at his fingers as he played with his unused butter knife on the table. "I know," he said softly. "I know I'm an idiot. I know I was a coward. Just a fuck-up all the way around."

Justin reached his hand across the table and tilted Brian's chin up to force him to make eye contact. "You are none of those things, so stop that right now. I'm not telling you this so you can beat yourself up. I'm telling you this because I honestly want to know why you didn't want me there. Why you shut me out again like that, like we weren't partners."

Had they still been partners at that point? Justin wasn't sure. And he was afraid to ask what Brian thought.

Brian closed his eyes and took a breath. "I told you at Christmas...I didn't know how to tell you. How you'd look at me. And I just couldn't take one more fucking person looking at me like, oh, poor Brian, look what happened to him. How tragic."

"And I wouldn't have done that, because I know exactly how it feels to have other people fawning over you, treating you like a baby, and trying to do too much to help you," Justin said as he took Brian's hand in his own. "I still would have wanted to be there for you, though."

They were both quiet for a few moments before Brian spoke.

"I'm sorry," he sighed. "I don't know what else to say."

"It's not about what you can say...it's about what you can do. You can let me in now."

"I'm here, aren't I?" Brian looked up at Justin, his eyebrows raised. "I let you stay at my apartment and sleep in my bed for four days over Christmas. Doesn't that qualify as letting you back in? I want you back in. Hell, you're already in."

"I feel like there's still a lot you're not telling me, though. Things you don't want to let me in on." Justin paused, wondering if he should continue. Eventually he did. Fuck it. He wanted to be honest here, and he wanted Brian to be honest too. "Maybe because you don't want to face them yourself."

Justin had decided that was probably the most likely answer - Brian had been shutting Justin out because he didn't want to face the truth of any of this. And while Justin understood Brian's desire for denial and ignoring the problem - a recurring theme in the Kinney Operating Manual - he was also frustrated with it because he felt like it was coming between them. Making Justin feel like Brian didn't trust him completely.

Brian let out a loud exhale and shrugged as he laid the butter knife atop his plate and started gathering up dishes and napkins and piling them up.

"I'm just asking you to be honest with me, Brian. Tell me when you need something. What you need. You don't have to pretend you're okay all the time. Let me help you. I'm not doing it out of pity; I'm doing it out of love. Because I care about you." Justin paused and took a deep breath. "Because I love you. I never stopped."

Brian looked up at Justin and blinked a few times before he began to speak, his voice hushed and even. Measured. "Okay...I'm tired. I'm hurting. I left my pain medication at home because I haven't needed it in weeks and didn't think I would need it here. But I also didn't think about sitting on an airplane or the fact that I'd be moving around more than I have since...I don't know. I need to lie down. I don't want to, because I want to spend the day in the city with you. But I need to. There. Not so fun, is it Sunshine? Not how things used to be."

"Brian, I don't care about that. This is part of your life now. I'm not just here for the pretty parts, okay? How many times did you take care of me when I was having panic attacks or freaking out in crowds or having flashbacks? I haven't forgotten about that. Can you let me do the same for you?"

They'd gone back to the hotel without saying much, and climbed into bed together. Brian had flipped himself over onto his stomach. "To get off my ass for a while," he'd said. It didn't take long before Brian was snoring softly with his head turned toward Justin. The younger man gently wrapped an arm around his lover's shoulders as he scooted himself closer, until their bodies were touching, and allowed his own eyes to drift shut.

"Love you," he whispered as he slowly rubbed his thumb over the skin on Brian's left shoulder. "Always."

The subway train lurched to yet another stop, shaking Justin out of his daydream. He and Brian were making some headway in working their way back to where they'd been when they almost got married, but they still had a ways to go. Even so, Justin had no doubt they'd get through this storm just like they had all the others, and be even stronger for it.

Looking for a distraction, Justin headed into his tiny bedroom to work on a painting - just a little something he'd started on Friday morning, without really knowing what it would turn out to be. It had started off a little dark and melancholy, but now he felt inspired to add in some brightness - a happier tone to balance it out a bit. A reflection of how his mood had changed over the weekend. Before Brian, and after. If only he could stay in the after for longer. He lost himself in his painting for a while, as he was prone to do, and let a couple of hours pass.

Around 9:00, his cell phone rang. It was Brian.

"Hey. How was your flight?" Justin held the phone with his shoulder as he continued painting small strokes on the canvas.

He could hear Brian snort on the other end of the line. "Let's not talk about handsy-ass flight attendants who don't seem to accept that I can get into the seat my own damn self. Not like I don't do that several times a day all on my own without their fucking hands grabbing me. At least the liquor was good."

"Well, that's something I guess."

"Miss you already."

"Yep." Justin sighed.

"Work tomorrow, huh? Back to the grind."

"Only it's not not nearly as fun as your choice of words makes it sound." Justin smiled as he swirled his paintbrush through a glass of water to rinse off the color.

They talked for a few more minutes, and Justin counted four noisy yawns coming from the Pittsburgh end of the line before he said, "Alright, go to bed, old man."

"Yeah, yeah."

"Love you."

"Love you too."

At least he could get Brian to return the phrase now without hesitation.

That night, they slept in their separate beds, in separate apartments, in separate cities. And Justin wished he felt like he could go back to Pittsburgh without feeling like a dog coming home with its tail between its legs, or like he'd let down everyone who believed he could do this. Brian included.

For the next three days, Justin felt like he was just going through the motions. Meeting with gallery owners, managers, and other people who would essentially decide whether or not he was worthy of having the opportunity to be a success. Agreeing to a new commission from some bored housewife with more money than sense - a portrait of her prized standard poodle. Oh well, it was money.

On Wednesday, he hadn't painted a single stroke all day, just one meeting after another, hustling to try to make something - anything - happen. By the time he made it home, he was ready to collapse onto the sofa and call Brian.

"Hey," Brian answered. "Right on time."

"Yep...God what a day."

"Oh yeah?"

"I never thought I'd say I missed school, but...I do. At least then I got to paint or draw or otherwise create for most of the day. These fucking meetings are just...bullshit. A million galleries in this city, and a million asses to kiss. All so they might agree to let people see my work."

"Ah, see, that's the beauty of owning your own company...there's no bosses' ass to kiss. Just the clients."

"Yeah, well, I'm not quite there yet, asshole. You've got about 12 years on me, career wise, remember?"

"And a fucking college degree," Brian reminded him.

"I know, I know."

"So, this honesty thing goes both ways. Tell me how things are really going in New York."

"Huh?"

"You heard me. I want the real story and not the highlight reel. Is it what you thought it would be?"

"I don't know. I don't know what I thought it would be."

"Are you happy?"

"I guess so. I like what I'm doing. I like getting to put my work out there for others to enjoy and appreciate. I wish I could do more of what I want to do instead of what other people want to pay me to do, but that's how you make money I guess."

"Welcome to adulthood. You've officially sold your soul for a buck."

"Hmm. Maybe so."

Justin could hear Brian breathing on the other end of the line, but not saying anything, for several seconds. He could also hear what sounded like a pen clicking over and over.

"You okay?" Justin asked.

"Yeah. Just thinking. I, uh...I was talking to Ted...and… Okay, well, I'm just going to say it. I think I'd like to move to New York."

"What?" Justin said, not believing what he was hearing. "But what about Kinnetik?"

"That's what I was talking to Ted about. If he thought I could work remotely. And, you know, fly back when I'm needed in person."

"Planning to make friends with more handsy-ass flight attendants?"

Brian laughed. "Yeah. Next time I'll smack them. Or run over their toes on my way out."

"Have you told Michael you're thinking about this? He'll freak the fuck out."

"Yes, and yes. But he'll get over it. He always does. He knows he can't live without me, so he can't be mad for too long."

"So humble, Mr. Kinney."

"Anyway, I'm not doing it unless you're okay with it. I'm not making this decision for both of us. So what do you think?"

"You actually think I'd tell you not to come? Of course I think you should come! I'd love to have you here."

"I need a fresh start. I need to be somewhere that people aren't judging me and comparing me to who I used to be. I need someplace that I can settle into being who I am now, without the past coming back to haunt me at every turn. I need to feel like I can just be me. And figure out who that is now. I think I can do that there."

"So, where do I fit in?" Justin asked, genuinely curious, if not a little afraid of what the answer would be. He knew Brian needed to do so much of this for himself. He respected that. And God did he know exactly how that felt. But, selfishly, he also knew he didn't want to give up being a part of Brian's life again. He'd learned his lesson there.

"Wherever you want to be… Partner?"

Maybe their two separate chapters could still come together into one after all. A little bit different than the original would have been, but still a masterpiece-in-progress.


	6. Reflection

" _I'm a cocksucker! I'm queer! And to anyone who takes pity, or offense...I say, judge yourself. This is where I live. This is who I am."_

It had been a little over a month since Brian had made the decision to move to New York. He and Ted had explored all of the available options for teleconferencing until they found what they thought was the best and would allow him to still run his company even if he was 400 miles away. He'd gotten referrals from the laundry list of medical professionals he begrudgingly required now for their counterparts in the Big Apple. He'd given his 30 days notice for his apartment in the suburbs, and used a real estate broker in New York to find himself an apartment in the city that would be comfortable for both him and Justin, assuming of course that Justin wanted to move in. Brian hadn't asked him yet. He didn't know what he was waiting for. Sure, he'd let Justin know over the phone that he wanted to be partners again, only he wasn't sure exactly what that meant at this point in their lives. And he was too nervous to ask what Justin thought it meant, not wanting to fuck things up again as he had so many times before.

All of this fucking self-doubt that kept bubbling up was yet another somewhat unsettling characteristic of the "new" Brian Kinney. Definitely a stark contrast to the cocksure, ego-driven man he'd once purported to be. Although, if he was being honest with himself, the self-doubt had always been there, lurking...lying dormant. And he hadn't been the egomaniacal version of himself for a long time where Justin was concerned. But when he was away from Justin, that was still the public persona he projected, and reveled in. It gave him power over others, and he always enjoyed that.

Power was important to Brian - feeling in control at all times. After spending most of his childhood cowering in corners and behind closed doors and under the covers in his twin-sized bed, trying to evade his abusive drunk of a father, teenaged Brian had developed a deep-seated need to gain control of whatever situations he could when he was away from his house. Balance, he supposed. As he grew older, graduated high school and went off to college, he found that what he craved most was power, after spending so many years feeling powerless.

Throughout college, Brian had used his outward sex appeal and confidence to gain power over others. He was who he was, and anyone who didn't like that could fuck off. But underneath that air of unequivocal confidence, he'd been hiding his insecurities. And in the past several months, many of those insecurities had risen straight to the surface.

Brian vaguely remembered waking up in the hospital, panicking, feeling like his back was on fire and his lower half was completely gone. He'd never been in so much pain in his life. He wasn't allowed to sit up or move around, and the medications they had him on made him feel like he was suspended somewhere between reality and a dream world. He remembered Michael and Ben being there that first day, and talking to him, but not what had been said. He'd been too blinded by the pain, and was relieved when the nurse helped him slip back into unconsciousness for awhile. The first conversation he remembered from the hospital was the one he'd had on the second day with his doctor. That is, if you could count lying there silently, staring at the ceiling while someone else handed down your life sentence, as a conversation.

He wasn't sure why he had refused to look at the doctor while he was speaking to him. As if not looking at the man might make what he was saying not real. But it was real. The words had continued to echo in his head long after the doctor left: car accident… spinal cord injury… paralyzed… permanent… independent… doing great things. Two of those things were not like the others.

He remembered Michael asking him after that if he was okay, and thinking what an idiotic question that was, even for Mikey. No, of course he was not okay. Brian felt powerless, completely stripped bare. Everything that had made Brian Kinney who he was had been blown to bits on a winding, two-lane country road in West Virginia. He had no idea where he would go from here. What was next. What possibly could make his life worth living from here on out.

That was the state of mind he'd been in when they sent him to rehab. He'd been so incredibly angry, although he wasn't sure at what or with whom, or if that even mattered. At the same time, he felt deflated and despondent. He didn't want to be there, but he also didn't have a choice.

They sent him there to learn how to fucking take care of himself. How to do basic shit like get his ass out of bed and into the goddamn wheelchair that he'd be stuck in for the rest of his pathetic life. How to put on a pair of goddamn pants. Putting socks and shoes on feet you couldn't move or feel, attached to legs that you couldn't move or feel either, was much more challenging than it ever should have been. And having people teach him how to take care of his basic bodily functions was far more of an invasion of privacy that he'd ever wanted to willingly allow, although he had to admit it was better than pissing and shitting himself. He'd felt like he had about a dozen people all up in his business, all the time.

He'd tried to put on some semblance of a neutral, "I'm okay" face, and maybe even smile and laugh a little, when Michael would come to visit, because he knew if his friend got too worried about him, he'd be impossible to deal with. He almost was anyhow, and even now, eight months later, Brian had long ago grown tired of slapping Michael's hands away and trying to tell him using only his eyes that he Did. Not. Need. Any. Fucking. Help. That was one thing Brian was not going to miss when he moved to New York.

Brian Kinney didn't need help from anyone. He'd always been a self-made man, and this would be no different. He wouldn't allow it to be. No one was allowed past that particular wall.

The pressure of trying to remain neutral for Michael would make his mood even worse after Michael left. When he was alone he would let himself freefall into the darkness, feeling like there was no way he'd ever get out of this hole he'd been plunged into the second his car hit the tree. He didn't know what his life was going to look like now, and that scared him. Would it even be worth living? How could he possibly ever be the same person he had been again? What would he do if he couldn't?

He had really just wanted to get the whole rehab thing done as quickly as possible, so he could go home and figure out for himself where the fuck he should go from here, without interference from any well-meaning do-gooders. He'd deal with this on his own, just like he'd wanted to do when he had cancer. Just like he'd done when Justin was bashed and he couldn't stop seeing the blood pooling on the cold cement or feeling the weight of Justin's lifeless body in his arms.

Only home this time wasn't going to be the loft - he would be going home to an apartment in the fucking suburbs. All that would be missing was the marriage and the kids and the church and the barbecue in the backyard. He remembered railing at Ted as they stood in the newly-purchased Babylon a couple of years before, telling Ted that he wasn't going to become another dead soul. The setup might have been different, but his soul sure felt dead now.

Unfortunately for Brian, in addition to teaching him how to do preschool bullshit all over again, these sadistic fucks were also all about talking about your feelings. That wasn't in Brian Kinney's wheelhouse. It hadn't been for a long time. He'd learned as a kid that feelings were best kept hidden, tucked safely away from prying eyes. And he'd found that if you ignored them, maybe they wouldn't hurt quite so much. Justin, Michael, and Debbie were the only people he ever let know that he did have feelings and emotions, and that was only because they refused to let him totally shut them out. But he kept even them at arm's length most of the time, as a measure of self-preservation. Old habits die hard.

So, suffice to say that Brian hadn't been too keen on talking to the shrink who'd forced herself on him during his third day of rehab. She'd come into the room as he was settling into his bed, physically exhausted and wanting to waste an hour or two watching mindless television before dinner instead of thinking about the fucked up situation that was his life now.

He'd gotten into the bed by himself, using the transfer board, while an occupational therapist watched him, giving him pointers and making sure he didn't fall. It had been difficult to pull it off - harder than he wanted to admit - because his arms weren't strong enough yet to take up the slack for the rest of his body. He hated feeling weak. She had assured him that he would get there; he just had to be patient and keep working at it. Eventually, she said, it would feel much easier, and he wouldn't need the board at all. But for right then, he did, and "eventually" felt really far away. So the board lay on the seat cushion of the wheelchair he was borrowing while he waited for his to come in - the one that would be custom built to his specific body measurements.

Thinking about that had made all of this feel uncomfortably real - forcing him to acknowledge that this wasn't just some temporary condition that he'd eventually recover from. Borrowed wasn't good enough. He was going to need a wheelchair to get anywhere, to do most things, from now on. He was never going to feel his full height, standing, ever again. He was never going to feel the stretch of his long legs after climbing out of the Corvette. Never going to run his toes down Justin's leg as they lay together in bed after sex. Would there still be sex? He didn't know at that point. But he did know that he was never going back to the loft apartment that had been so much to him, such an integral part of the man - the legend - that was Brian Kinney, Stud of Liberty Avenue. It was a status symbol, his fuckpad...and the place he and Justin had made love for the first time, even if Justin had been the only one who thought of it as love at the time. And now this shrink wanted him to tell her how he felt about all of this.

Brian Kinney didn't do therapy. He didn't do psychology or psychobabble. He did silence. Push it aside until it goes away, or at least until you don't feel it anymore. She could ask him all of the questions she wanted; it didn't mean he had to talk to her. So he didn't. At least he tried not to. He sat in the bed and ignored her and turned up the television louder in an attempt to drown out her voice.

"Mr. Kinney...can I call you Brian?" she asked, after she'd introduced herself. Her name was Rebecca.

He grunted and shrugged one shoulder.

"How are you doing?" She paused, waiting for an answer that would never come if he could help it. "I know this is a lot to deal with...a lot to take in."

She closed the door, crossed the room, and took a seat in the chair in the corner, about five feet from the bed. He hadn't told her she could come in or sit down. Yet another person all up in his business, invading his privacy. He would have left at that point, but he was stuck in the bed until someone came to supervise him getting back into the wheelchair so he could go to the dining room. He'd have to call a nurse, and that would take too long. Not to mention the fact that she'd probably come find him even if he did manage to leave the room. Fuck this shit, he'd thought to himself as he turned the TV up even louder.

"It's okay to not be okay."

He could feel her eyes on him as he tried to focus on the television and shut out her words and her presence. Fuck, she'd sounded like one of those motivational posters you might see in an elementary school counselor's office.

"I'm sure you're angry. That's okay. It's normal. I'm sure you're sad, too. That's normal. It's okay to have feelings about this."

He swallowed and turned his head slightly in the direction of the door, enough to where he could only see her just out of the corner of his eye. She was talking to him like he was a fucking child.

"You can talk to me about anything. It'll be just between us."

Brian hadn't wanted this to be between him and anyone else. He didn't want to be here at all. He didn't want to be having any of the thoughts or feelings he was having. He really just wanted to wake up in his bed in the loft and have all of this be one particularly vivid nightmare. But he knew that wasn't going to be the case, and that thought only pushed him deeper into the quiet rage that lay overtop a blossoming depression, which threatened to consume him. At that point, he had been more than willing to let it drown him.

"Denial is a part of this as well, Brian. It's one of the stages of grief. You're grieving right now."

"Nobody died." The words had come out of his mouth before he could stop them. So much for not talking to her.

"No, but that doesn't mean there wasn't a loss. You're dealing with a huge loss right now. And feeling all of these things...moving back and forth between them, even...it's all normal."

Normal. She sure liked that word. What the fuck was normal, anymore? He'd asked that question silently to himself as Rebecca sat and looked at him expectantly. The only time he'd felt normal back then was when he talked to Justin on the phone, because Justin didn't know.

Funny how even now, in the present, the only time he truly felt normal - or at least something close to it - was when he was with Justin. And now, Justin knew.

Brian was well aware that he still hadn't moved all the way through those stages Rebecca had talked to him about ad nauseum during his month in rehab. She'd told him over and over again that the stages weren't linear; that it was okay to be exactly where he was and feel exactly the way he felt, but he needed to talk about it, get it out, work through it - he couldn't keep it all bottled up inside forever. Bullshit, he'd thought to himself. He'd do just that, just like he always had, and she was welcome to watch and learn from the master.

Stage one was denial, which had always been one of Brian's go-to strategies for dealing with uncomfortable feelings or emotions. It was why he always numbed out with alcohol, drugs, and sex: pain management, he'd always referred to it. But his time in the hospital and rehab had kept him from engaging in his usual pain management strategies. Hell, he wasn't even allowed to go outside to smoke a cigarette for weeks, and by the time he'd gotten to that point, one of his doctors had convinced him that he shouldn't start up again because it would be bad for his circulation. So he hadn't. Getting drunk had been out of the question then, too. And he was taking too many prescription drugs now to get mixed up in the illicit substances again. Then there was the problem of sex when the lower half of your body is numb, can't move, and isn't responding to your brain. So classic pain management a la Brian Kinney was out, which limited the amount of time he could realistically pretend that this wasn't happening. Permanent paralysis was a difficult thing to deny, considering that it was in his face all the time, and there wasn't much that he did now that wasn't different somehow because of it. So denial wasn't really an option. Sure, he'd kept denying in some ways while he was lying to Justin, but now all of that was out on the table. Maybe he was past the denial now.

Stage two was anger, which he'd had for a long time, although it didn't enter his consciousness quite as much now. Sometimes he'd been positively Rage-ian, exploding and yelling and wanting to throw things, but most of the time, it had been a quiet fury, simmering just below the surface, bubbling over on occasion. Michael had been the recipient of most of it, but he seemed to take it for what it was - directed at the world and this frustrating situation, and not him personally. Although sometimes Brian wished Michael would have taken it personally and left him alone more often. Now, the only time Brian really felt angry about his situation was when the fucking chair or his broken nervous system got in the way of something he really wanted to do. Although that still happened more than he wanted to admit.

Stage three was bargaining - all of the wishing he'd done that he could turn back the clock and make things go differently somehow. Keep the house. Postpone the closing to a different day when it wouldn't have been pouring down rain, and he wouldn't have had an important meeting at Kinnetik concerning a two-million-dollar account. Keep his fucking mouth shut about Justin selling himself short by not wanting to go to New York. Marrying Justin and moving into the mansion together. Knowing that he'd give anything for this to all be an awful nightmare that he could wake up from and climb out of bed on his own two legs. The what-ifs and the wishing could go back pretty far, and they still did sometimes, although not as much as they had just a couple of months before. Now, he wasn't sure he would want to be the same person he was before.

Depression, stage four, was lasting a really, really long time. It seemed to build on itself, as the darkness in his mind made it easier to retreat into his head and just get lost in there, which only dragged him farther down into the recesses. Those thoughts when he wished he would have just died in the accident? That was depression talking. Some people might have interpreted it as suicidal, although Brian didn't think he'd ever truly felt suicidal - he'd only felt like he was never going to be able to find a way out. Like he was stuck. He was going through the motions, trying to move on with his life and find a new normal - going to work and spending time with the family, mostly - but he still felt like he was moving through sludge, or like there was some separation between himself and the rest of the world moving around him. Being honest with Justin ended up lifting a lot of the fog and the heaviness - Brian felt more like himself than he had in a long time when he was with Justin - but it still wasn't completely gone.

He'd come back from his surprise trip to New York feeling more hopeful and happy than he had in months - seven months, to be exact. As he'd sat on the plane on his way back to Pittsburgh, all he could think about was how much he wanted and needed to be in New York. To be with Justin. To finally be free of the weight and the fog and the anger and the wishing and the avoiding. Maybe he could finally move into the final stage - acceptance - so long as Justin was there with him.

As Brian opened up one of his dresser drawers and started tossing folded-up pants and T-shirts into an open box by his feet, he glanced up at his reflection in the mirror. Who was the person staring back at him? In some ways, he still recognized himself as the old Brian Kinney - prideful, egotistical, honest to a fault. In others, he felt like a new version of himself - older, wiser, and a little more willing to be vulnerable, if only because disability had forced his hand. He wasn't seeing the shadow in his eyes that had been so prevalent for a long time - they were brighter now. More hopeful. Greener, instead of the dark, almost-black pools they'd been for the past eight months.

This experience had shaped him and changed him, although he was still very much a work-in-progress. He'd resisted the change at first - there was that denial again, and the anger and the bargaining - but now he could feel himself starting to embrace it and find his way out of the darkness that had seemed so heavy for so long. It was still there, because you don't just flip a switch on depression and it's over, but Justin was helping him find the light, and find himself again. The miracle of modern pharmaceuticals was helping too, even as much as he'd resisted them. No one had died in the accident, but there was definitely a loss. The person he had been for so many years was gone. And Rebecca had been right - he needed to grieve that loss so he could move on with his life.

Brian looked down at his watch. He still had an hour before he needed to leave for the airport to pick up Justin. Justin was coming to help him pack up his apartment, and to accompany him on the six-plus hour drive from Pittsburgh to New York City. They were driving because Brian was keeping the Mustang, even if Justin thought it was impractical in a city with so many different transportation options and so little parking. But Justin didn't know what it was like to depend on accessibility to get from Point A to Point B. Brian wanted to still have the option of 100% independence that his car gave him, so he would gladly pay to park it in a garage.

By the end of the week, he'd be living in New York. That thought still felt surreal. He was leaving Pittsburgh behind, and along with it, hopefully, the ghosts of Brian past. But as eager as he was to leave those ghosts behind, he also knew he'd be leaving behind people who loved him, who had treated him as family when his own had rejected him. He was going to miss them, but he knew he would be coming back to visit. He also hoped that if this change of scenery helped him to embrace Brian present and Brian future, maybe the ghosts wouldn't have such power over him. This version of Brian Kinney needed to take some of his power back.

When he arrived at the airport to pick up Justin, Brian noticed he had a queasy feeling starting to take hold in his gut. What the fuck? Why was he nervous? This was Justin. He was fine, they were fine, everything was fine.

As he parked his car in the garage and started unloading the pieces of his wheelchair, his peripheral vision caught a woman turning her head and slowing down to watch. He wondered if he would ever stop being a fucking spectacle. Taking a deep breath, he resisted the urge to yell at her, to ask her what the fuck she was looking at, and reminded himself that he was close to being in New York, where there were so many people of so many different walks of life that he didn't stand out so much from the crowd. She turned her head and moved on right as he shifted his body from the car to his chair, and he chuckled out loud to himself at her impeccable timing. Was she afraid he'd come after her now? At least she'd provided enough distraction to turn his attention from the unexplainable anxiety he was feeling.

He sat for 20 minutes outside the security checkpoint, trying to stay out of the way as he waited for Justin to emerge. His flight had landed 10 minutes before, so it shouldn't be too much longer. The nervousness started coming back, and he didn't know if it was because he was anxious to see Justin, or if he was just really uncomfortable with sitting alone in a public place. People kept walking by, glancing over at him, probably filling in the gaps in their minds with some story of why he was this way. A small chip in the black powdercoat on the front end of his chair caught his eye and he picked at it for awhile, as a way to avoid making eye contact with curious strangers. He was still looking down and running his thumb over the rough spot in the smooth surface when someone walked up to him and a well-worn sneaker came up to playfully kick at the toe of his shoe.

"Hey old man! What's so much more interesting than me?" Justin said, his megawatt smile lighting up the entire airport terminal. Or at least, that's how it felt to Brian.

Brian turned his head up and let his trademark smirk come over his face. "You know, you'll be 35 someday too. You really should stop calling me old."

"Are you saying it's not that bad, after all?" Justin teased. "I seem to recall you thinking your life would be over at 30."

"Yeah, well...let's just say a lot has happened since then." And God had it ever.

Most of his life, Brian had thought that he wanted to die young, while he was still attractive and virile and not ever be some wrinkled old man, wasting away, dependent on others. But when cancer confronted him with the distinct possibility that he could die young, he'd realized that wasn't what he wanted at all. He had people who loved him, that he loved, that he didn't want to leave. Mostly Justin and Gus. Maybe Michael too. He had survived that. And now he was surviving this. Maybe not with the aplomb that was typical of Brian Kinney, but he was getting by. And he was glad he was still here, even if he was closing in on the back half of his 30s.

Justin bent down to hug and kiss him, much more deeply than your typical "hey-how-are-you-doing-I-missed-you" kiss that was common at the airport. Brian definitely didn't care who was watching him or looking at him now. They could go judge themselves.

The pair continued down to the baggage claim area to wait for Justin's suitcase. When they stopped in front of the carousel, Brian found himself reaching out to take Justin's hand.

"I missed you," Brian said.

"I know," Justin said. "I can't wait until we can see each other all the time." Like he had promised that night in the loft two years before. A promise neither of them had kept.

When the suitcase arrived, they went out to Brian's car, where Justin threw it and his messenger bag into the trunk and waited for Brian to get himself settled in the car before he climbed in. Brian kind of missed being able to get into a car without having to maneuver both seats around into strange positions to get himself and all of his crap into the vehicle, but whatever. There were a lot of things he missed. Most of them were never coming back, so he might as well just deal with it - access his former self's ability to just plow on through whatever life handed him, or to at least pretend to do so.

They went back to the apartment and talked as they packed boxes and stacked them up in the living room to wait for the movers Brian had hired, who would be arriving on Friday morning to pick everything up and take it to Brian's new apartment in New York. The one he hoped to share with Justin, if he could only bring himself to ask. Maybe now he knew what he was anxious about, although knowing didn't make it any easier to resolve it and just fucking ask him already.

He remembered the last time he'd asked Justin to move in with him - if he needed to make room in his drawers for Justin's drawers. It had been so hard to get the words out, and he'd delayed as much as he could by talking about inconsequential shit until he could see that Justin was getting irritated with him and he needed to just spit it out. Then Justin acted like he couldn't believe what he was hearing. And he never really gave an answer. Instead, he left for Los Angeles a few weeks later, and didn't move in until he came back to the Pitts after the Rage movie fell through, thanks to God being in and gays being out.

Brian had never really felt thankful to any God in his life, but Justin coming back home had been a moment when he felt like he'd been blessed, even if he didn't want to admit it. Then his pride had fucked it all up again, and he'd let Justin walk out of the loft and out of his life, without saying what he knew he needed to say. What Justin wanted him to say. What he couldn't - no, wouldn't - say. The bombing at Babylon had been a huge wake-up call for Brian, because he realized in that instant what he stood to lose if he let the two people he cared about most slip through his grasp - if he continued to act like he didn't give a shit about anyone else, like he didn't need anyone. If he refused to tell them how he really felt.

He knew he was being chickenshit again now, but he was afraid that he was moving too quickly and Justin would say no, that he wasn't ready to move back in together yet. So, to preserve his pride, he kept his mouth shut, deciding to wait and see how things progressed once they were actually back in the same city again. After all, they'd been partners before without technically living together - Justin had said it himself. In the meantime, Brian was enjoying what they had right now, and trying not to worry about the past or the future. When had he started channelling Zen Ben?

Thursday was Brian's last full day in Pittsburgh. He was leaving behind the city that had been his home for more than 20 years. A place that had seen him turn from a boy into a man, and a man into a father. Even a partner. Almost a husband. This city and the relationships he'd forged in it had changed him in so many ways. He was grateful for who he'd become, but at the same time eager to find out what was next for him.

His final evening in the Pitts was spent at Debbie Novotny's house - the house that had become a home to him so many years ago when he was a wayward teenager, lost and confused. Back then, he'd found an anchor in Michael. Michael had always kept him grounded. But perhaps it was time to allow Justin to fully take on that role, without Michael running interference. He loved Michael - always had, always would - but somehow his ties to his past now were keeping him back, holding him down. Brian was looking forward to trying freedom and independence on for size, in a place where no one was remembering who he used to be.

He knew this probably wouldn't be a typical family dinner, and he was right - it was a going-away party. Complete with memories and tears and hugs that were a little too tight.

"You're all acting like I'm never coming back," he said as he took a sip of his beer at the dining room table. "I'll probably be back in two fucking weeks after something blows up at Kinnetik."

"Let's hope we can keep it together for longer than two weeks," Ted said. "Besides, you've got Cynthia pretty well trained. She can bust balls with the best of 'em."

"You'd have to be quite a woman to put up with Brian for this many years," Emmett interjected.

Cynthia was quite a woman, indeed. And she'd be stepping up into a much more active role in the company, alongside Ted, so that Brian could be an entire state away without fearing that his company would fall apart. He was thankful that both of them were up to the challenge, and that they fully supported his need and desire to get the fuck out of town.

As the evening wore on, one by one, people started to say their goodbyes, until the only people who remained in the house were Brian, Justin, Debbie, and Michael.

Michael cried, just like Brian knew he would, and he had to promise that he'd be back to visit before too long. Brian hoped he'd managed to successfully blink back the tears that were threatening to fall from his own eyes. He was thankful that they were alone in the living room, at least. Ben had already wished Brian well and gone outside, to give them some privacy, Brian assumed. Justin was in the kitchen with Debbie.

As he and Michael embraced, Brian whispered in his friend's ear: "Thank you."

Michael pulled away just enough to look him in the eyes. "What for?"

"I don't think I ever thanked you for being there through...you know. Everything." He paused and took a deep breath. "I know I wasn't easy to deal with. I'm still not. I wasn't okay, and in a lot of ways I'm still not. But I wanted you to know how much I appreciated you being there, even if I didn't always act like it."

"That's what friends do, Brian."

"Well...thanks. For being a friend." He could feel his breath getting shaky, and it was becoming more difficult to hold his emotions in.

"So I guess this is it."

"Until next time."

"I love you." Michael bent down and kissed Brian on the lips, then stood up and wiped his cheeks with the back of one hand.

"Always have."

"Always will."

Brian watched Michael go out the door, his own vision blurred with unshed tears. One of them slipped out of his eye just as he felt a hand come to rest on his shoulder.

"You okay?" Justin said, his voice soft, as he tightened his grip on Brian's shoulder.

"Yeah. I'm fine. It's just weird, knowing that for the first time in 20 years, we won't just be a few streets apart." Even when he and Michael weren't speaking to each other, they'd never been physically separated by much distance. Now, he felt like he needed that distance - that separation from his past - so he could work on becoming whatever this life meant him to be.

Brian turned to face Justin, right as Debbie came into the living room.

"You'd better plan on coming home for holidays, you little shit," she said as she bent down to hug him. "You know how I feel about family."

"I do, Deb. Thanks for letting me be a part of yours."

He couldn't stop the tears this time, and he found himself overwhelmed with memories of Debbie welcoming him into her home when he was just a kid, scared shitless of his father, who really just needed a hug. For someone to love him. She'd loved him when he desperately needed someone to care. She was more of a mother to him than his own flesh and blood ever had been or ever would be. Debbie had given him many hugs over the years, but this one felt different somehow, and he didn't really want to let go. She held him for a long time, before pulling away and wiping the tears from his cheeks with her hands.

"Now, that's enough of that," she said, sniffling a little. "Go out there and show New York who's boss. If anyone can do that, I know it's you. I'm proud of you, kid."

He and Justin sat in the car for a few minutes so he could regain his composure before driving back to his apartment one last time. In the morning, the movers would come to pick up the boxes, and he and Justin would embark on their journey to New York - the place where Brian hoped he could find himself, once and for all.


	7. Reunification

" _Are you coming or going? Or coming, and then going? Or coming...and staying?"_

Justin sat in the passenger seat of the Mustang, watching Brian out of the corner of his eye as they made their way across Pennsylvania. He was still smitten by how beautiful the man was, and wondered why Brian had ever been so worried about turning the dreaded 3-0 and suddenly losing all of his charm and power. Now, at 35, Brian seemed as sexy as ever, at least in Justin's eyes - the man was aging like fine wine.

"What are you staring at?" Brian's voice broke Justin's trance.

"Nothing," Justin said quickly. "You. Thinking about how sexy you are." Justin reached his left hand across the console and rubbed it over Brian's right thigh suggestively, moving it toward his crotch.

Brian let go of the steering wheel for a moment and lifted Justin's arm by the wrist, pushing it back toward the younger man.

"What?" Justin said innocently. "I seem you recall you used to like messing around in the car...and sex in public places."

"Yeah, well that was at a red light in downtown Pittsburgh, not going 70 miles an hour down a four lane highway." Brian's tone suddenly turned bitter. "Or do you want me to wreck this car too? See if I can really do it up big this time and break my fucking neck?"

"Brian-"

"I can't feel it anyway. So you'd be wasting your time. And no, I don't want to talk about it."

Brian had been in a strange mood all morning, leaving Justin unsure how he should act in order to avoid setting off his seemingly very short fuse. Before they'd left the apartment in Pittsburgh, Brian had been uncharacteristically quiet as they packed up the last of the clothes and towels and bedsheets they'd used during their last night there - the only things that had been left out of the wall of boxes that was stacked up in Brian's living room.

Brian had spent a very long time in the shower that morning, probably sitting in there until the water ran cold, and when he came out of the bathroom, Justin noticed he didn't particularly look refreshed, but instead a bit haggard, and his eyes were red. Justin didn't press - he knew the previous night had been an emotional one for Brian, saying goodbye to people who had been his surrogate family for a long time. They'd seen him through a lot. Debbie in particular, who Justin knew had been like a second mother to Brian - or maybe his only mother in the truest sense of the word. Justin's brief, singular run-in with Joan Kinney had given him all of the information he needed to be able to judge the woman harshly for how she treated her son. Frankly, the woman didn't deserve to be able to call herself Brian's mother - between what little Justin had seen and heard, he knew that she seemed to care more about her own reputation in the church than her own son's feelings and his ability to be able to live his life - be himself - without judgment from someone who should have been able to love him unconditionally. On the other hand, Debbie seemed to always accept everyone for exactly who they were, no questions asked, and Brian had been no exception.

So Justin wasn't surprised that Brian's goodbye to Debbie had been an emotional one. He'd managed to hold himself together long enough to get out the door and into the car, but once there, he'd broken down again, his head leaned back against the seat and his left hand covering his eyes. Justin tried to offer reassurance by taking hold of Brian's right hand, but the older man had pulled his hand out of Justin's grasp. Justin had tried to offer to drive them both back to the apartment so Brian could rest in the passenger seat, but he'd refused with a curt shake of his head. So they'd sat in the alley behind Debbie's house for a long time, saying nothing. Justin felt awkward because he wanted so badly to touch Brian, to comfort him, but it was obvious in the way he'd jerked his hand from Justin's grasp that he didn't want to be touched or comforted. Eventually, Brian started the car and they headed toward what had been Brian's home for the past six-and-a-half months, in silence, save for Brian's audibly deep, steady breathing, as if he was holding himself together by a thread.

When they got back to the apartment, Justin was still feeling shut out and a little lost, as Brian was constantly a step ahead, keeping his back to Justin as much as possible while they got ready for bed. He'd wondered if Brian would even want him in the bed that night, or if he should just go sleep on the couch and let Brian be alone. As he watched Brian shift his body from his chair to the bed, Justin decided that perhaps sleeping in the living room would be best for tonight, and was picking up the pillow from the other side of the bed, trying to recall which box they'd packed the extra blankets in, when Brian suddenly spoke for the first time in over an hour.

"Where are you going?" He looked up at Justin, his hazel eyes shining, even in the dim light of the small lamp on the bedside table. He was still sitting up, one leg on the bed and the other hanging limply over the side.

"I thought maybe you wanted to be alone."

"No," Brian grunted as he used his right hand to pull his right leg up onto the mattress. "I'm just…" He paused and took a breath. "This was a lot harder than I thought."

"Leaving everyone?"

"Yeah. I mean, I'm glad that I'm going...I don't regret the decision at all. But I don't think I realized how much I've been leaning on all of them for the past eight months. How much they've given me. I don't feel worthy of it, you know?"

Justin knew that Brian's feelings about love and being loved were rooted in childhood trauma that ran deep. Brian wouldn't talk to him much about his past, but Justin had gathered enough through Debbie and Michael over the years to know that there was no love lost between Brian and his family, and their relationships had been emotionally and physically abusive.

"Brian, they love you," Justin said as he sat down on the bed and placed his hand on top of the one Brian was using to prop himself up. "That's why they did it. That's what you do when you love someone."

"I don't deserve them. Or you." Brian slid his body downward and settled back onto the pillow, his gaze turned up at the ceiling.

"I'm not here because you're forcing me to be, you know. I'm here of my own free will. Because I love you too."

Justin slid over next to Brian in the bed and started working a hand down the older man's torso, slowly, then began running the hand up and down Brian's penis, feeling it start to harden into what Justin knew was a reflexive reaction that didn't require a connection to Brian's brain and probably wouldn't last very long. Still, it would give Justin an opportunity to try to distract Brian and pull him out of his melancholy mood with some pure physical pleasure. Justin knew Brian couldn't feel his skin past his waistline, but he didn't know how much deep sensation Brian had down there, if any, and Brian wouldn't talk about it, but Justin figured it was worth a try.

"You're wasting your time," Brian sighed.

"I'll be the judge of that." Justin captured Brian's lips with a deep kiss, then started slowly biting, nipping, and sucking his way down his partner's jawline and into the curve where his neck met his shoulder, which made Brian arch his back and let out a low moan. He continued trailing his tongue down Brian's shoulder and down to his right nipple, working with his lips and his tongue as Brian writhed with pleasure under him, his breathing heavy.

"Justin-" Brian choked out between breaths, sounding like he wanted to object to what was happening, even though the bodily response Justin was getting seemed to indicate otherwise.

"Relax," Justin said quietly as he lifted his mouth from Brian's nipple briefly to speak. "Just let me take care of you. Let me at least try."

Brian did seem to relax a bit after that, leaning into Justin's ministrations with his head back and his eyes closed. Justin continued trying to find things that Brian responded to physically, concentrating his efforts on the upper half of Brian's body and the invisible line on his skin where sensation gave way into numbness, wondering if he was going to be able to bring his lover to climax. He was rubbing his cock against Brian's leg and working toward his own orgasm with his free hand.

It might have been unconventional, but he was certainly enjoying it, and Brian seemed to be as well. Besides, since when had conventional ever been the name of the game where Justin Taylor and Brian Kinney were concerned? Brian had gone soft in his hand several minutes before, but Justin had paid no mind to it and kept going, hopeful that maybe if he kept up the stimulation, his lover's erection would return.

Justin eventually arrived at the point where he couldn't hold himself back any longer, and orgasm overwhelmed his senses as he felt his hand and lower torso become wet and sticky against Brian's leg. That was when Brian stopped him, grabbing ahold of Justin's wrist firmly with one hand, and placing his other hand over Justin's lips.

"Stop," Brian said simply, his eyes still closed tightly. He let the hand covering Justin's lips fall back to the bed once Justin had lifted his head.

"Why?"

"It's pointless."

"I'll keep going. I'll keep trying. You just have to let me."

"No."

"It just… It might not be like it was before, but we can try. I want to get you there."

"You can't do that if the road has collapsed."

"You don't know that it's collapsed, though. You're just assuming. It just takes longer."

"Justin." Brian's tone was becoming more heated, but he still hadn't opened his eyes. "I said no."

"Why, though? Why won't you let me try?"

Brian didn't answer right away. Instead, he wrestled his body over onto his side as best he could with Justin still pressed against his hip, turning his head away from Justin. Eventually, Brian spoke, his voice softer, as if his anger had melted into an emotion Justin couldn't quite read - was it embarrassment? Or sadness?

"It's going to be a long drive tomorrow. I need to sleep. G'night."

Justin knew that hadn't been an answer to his question; it was Brian changing the subject. He let it drop, and used a tissue to clean them both up a little before pressing his body against Brian's from behind, spooning the older man as he wrapped an arm around Brian's chest. He could feel small hitches in Brian's breathing, and he wondered if his lover was crying, but he didn't dare look or ask. He only wrapped his arm tighter around Brian in silent reassurance, thankful that Brian wasn't pushing him away. At least, he hoped it felt reassuring to Brian - a promise that he'd be there, for all of it, every step of the way, no matter what the path entailed or how difficult it was.

Brian had barely spoken to Justin in the morning, and was short with the movers when they arrived to pick up all of the boxes and furniture. That wasn't like Brian at all - he was usually all-businesslike politeness in situations like that. Justin had an idea of what it was about, though - he assumed that Brian had been frustrated with his body and his lack of control over his emotions the night before, and now that frustration was coming out in the form of a somewhat-sour, uncharacteristically-quiet Brian.

They ate a piecemeal breakfast that consisted of what little food was left in Brian's apartment, supervised while the movers finished their work, then headed out of the apartment themselves, locking the door and dropping the keys off at the office before climbing into Brian's Mustang and hitting the road.

Justin was wishing he could get Brian to talk to him - be more open and honest about what was really going on inside his head. But he knew Brian well enough to know that if he pressed too hard, he'd find himself on the wrong side of the man's emotional wall, or worse, at the bottom of the Kinney cliff. So, for now, he was content to just sit quietly and appreciate how sexy his lover was, with his beautifully expressive eyes and his perfect body and his gorgeous lips and long fingers gripping the steering wheel. That was when Justin had screwed things up again by trying to tease Brian with his hand on his leg.

"I'm sorry," Justin said, after Brian had picked Justin's hand up and pushed it back to the passenger side of the car. He wasn't sure if Brian would think he was apologizing for just now, in the car, or for last night, or both. He hoped both, because that was how he meant it. "I just wanted to see if I could get you there without the drugs. I know you don't like how they make you feel."

"It is what it is, Sunshine." Brian shrugged, and then snorted derisively. "It's definitely nothing like that day we stole Ted's Viagra, huh?"

"I wouldn't want it to be like that," Justin laughed. "My ass was sore for a week."

"Served you right. It was your idea to steal it, remember?"

"I remember. I also remember meeting your mother that day, of all days."

"God, can we not talk about her? Please? I'm thankful to be getting away from her, and all of her proclamations about the different ways in which God is punishing me for being a fag. First cancer, now this."

"I know, but she's still your mother."

"She gave birth to me because her religion told her it would be a sin for her to abort me, like Pops wanted. That's about the most mothering she ever did. She claims she let Pops hit her so he wouldn't hit me, but I call bullshit on that. He hit me plenty. Don't miss his sorry ass either."

Justin was wishing he hadn't brought this up now, not with Brian already in a bad mood, and not while they were speeding down the highway.

"I know," Justin said, letting the subject drop without saying what he really wanted to: that he knew Brian wished on some level that his biological family had loved him and cared for him and would miss him. He wondered if Brian had even told Joan or Claire that he was moving to New York. Probably not. Would they even care?

Justin busied his hands with his sketchbook for awhile, and Brian turned up the radio to fill the silence that had settled between them. He drew until his fingers cramped around the pencil and his entire hand started to shake, then set the pencil and the sketchbook down in the door pocket so he could stretch his fingers.

"You okay?" Brian asked him as he turned the radio down a bit.

"Yeah, just the usual. If I hold the pencil for too long." It was much better than it had been years ago, but it still annoyed him when he had to stop drawing before he wanted to, simply because his body had betrayed him.

"We're quite the pair, aren't we?" Brian said, a touch of sarcasm in his voice. "You can't draw, and I can't fuck."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, you love to draw...and I…"

"Brian, it's fine."

"It's not fine and you know it."

"Maybe to you. But I'm content to keep trying. I thought we were figuring it out. I know I enjoyed last night. I hope you did too."

Brian didn't respond. When he finally spoke several minutes later, he changed the subject. "You hungry?"

"Sure, if you are."

"Okay. I figured we'd stop for lunch soon. My back's getting really stiff. This is the first time I've driven this long since...well, you get it."

Justin didn't answer that. He got it. Although he still wasn't sure why Brian seemed to not be able to say it out loud, even after this many months.

"So what sounds good to you?"

Justin's train of thought was already on a different track. "I can drive for a while, if you want me to. You can take your meds and sleep if you want."

"We'll see."

Justin was a little surprised that Brian didn't make a sarcastic comment about his driving. He must really be feeling bad, Justin thought. He really hoped Brian would take him up on the offer and just relax for a while, even if he wouldn't tell Justin exactly why he was so upset.

They stopped for lunch at a little mom and pop restaurant in the middle of nowhere in rural Pennsylvania, after topping the car off with gas at the adjacent service station. This place was like stepping back in time - a far cry from the city life they were both used to.

Justin loved restaurants like this - they served just the sort of stick-to-your-ribs food that his high metabolism loved. On the other side of the table, Brian mostly picked at his food, only eating about half of it in between running a hand over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose, sighing loudly, and shifting his body around like he was uncomfortable. He was suddenly looking very tired.

"Want me to drive?" Justin asked again as they left the restaurant.

"Sure," Brian said, tossing Justin the keys, which he barely caught. "As long as you promise not to wreck my car and kill us both."

"Have I yet?"

"There's a first time for everything."

After Brian was settled into the passenger seat, Justin continued around to the driver's side. This was the first time Brian had let him drive the Mustang. As he pressed the brake pedal down so he could put the car in gear, he noticed that the hand controls Brian used made their corresponding motion all on their own, to the left of the steering wheel.

"Yeah, they'll do that," Brian said. "It's fine. Just the way everything works."

Justin nodded and accelerated, leaving the parking lot of the combination restaurant and service station and getting back on the highway that was just a short distance away. Brian reached into the backseat, fished a pill bottle out of the zippered pouch he kept strapped on the underside of his wheelchair frame, opened it up, and took two before putting it back in its place. Before long, he was out cold, snoring a little, with his head leaned back into the headrest.

Justin reached across and gave Brian's thigh a gentle squeeze that he knew he wouldn't feel. The older man didn't stir.

"Sleep well," Justin said softly. "We'll be in New York before you know it."

Brian woke up a few hours later, just as they were starting to get caught up in the traffic surrounding the city.

"Shit," he said. "I didn't mean to sleep that long." He stretched his arms over his head as best he could in the confines of the car.

"It's okay. I think you needed it. You had a rough night. Feeling better now?"

"Yeah."

They both left it at that, and the only sound in the car as they entered New York City was the GPS they'd bought specifically for the trip, directing them to Brian's new apartment in Chelsea. The moving truck arrived not long after they did, and they spent the rest of the afternoon directing the movers and unpacking enough of Brian's belongings to make it through the first night in his new place.

Justin was hanging clothes in the walk-in closet, and was just about to turn around to ask Brian which side he wanted his suits on, when he suddenly felt a hand on the small of his back. Brian was behind him, looking a bit nervous, which Justin thought was strange.

"Put all of my stuff on this side," Brian said, gesturing to the bars and shelving on their left. He took a deep breath before continuing. "This other side is yours."

The younger man barely got the suits hung on the bar before he would have dropped them out of surprise. He wasn't sure what he'd just heard. Was Brian asking him to move in?

"What do you mean, the other side is mine?"

"I'd like it if you and I were to live together," Brian said, his words giving Justin a feeling of deja vu. "If you're willing, that is."

"Brian!" Justin grabbed Brian around the shoulders and kissed him, hard, nearly pushing them both into the door frame of the closet.

"I'll take that as a yes," Brian chuckled as they separated, a crooked grin spreading across his face.

"Of course it's a yes!" Justin exclaimed. "Why would I say no?"

Brian shrugged and turned away, and Justin wondered what on earth that was about. Had Brian been afraid he'd say no? He decided not to ask.

"Well, I'm glad that's settled," Brian said as they both went back into the bedroom. "Otherwise, this big apartment was going to be pretty lonely."

"Well, we can't have you being lonely." Justin placed his hands on Brian's shoulders and ran them seductively down the older man's chest, before deciding it would probably be best if he didn't push his luck tonight. The last thing he wanted was for Brian to change his mind about letting him move in. So he kissed Brian's cheek and turned his attention to the stack of boxes once again. "I just hope we can remember where we packed the sheets."

They eventually found them, after opening and putting away several more boxes of clothes, leading to Justin teasing Brian about the size of his wardrobe, which was probably larger and more expensive than most women's.

"Mel was right," Justin said. "You are a label queen."

"Nothing wrong with looking good," Brian said. "Not all of us can live in cargo pants, hoodies, and sneakers 24/7."

"Oooh, low blow old man."

"What did I tell you about calling me old?"

"Sorry, sorry. I keep forgetting about your new lease on life."

Brian laughed out loud. "I guess that's one way of putting it."

"I wasn't talking about that. Not everything is about your accident, you know."

"Only it is," Brian said as he continued putting his folded pants and t-shirts back into the dresser drawer they'd been removed from in Pittsburgh earlier in the week. "It has to be."

"Why does it have to be?"

"Because it's right fucking here, all the time. I want to get away from it, and I can't. Now, I feel like I've run away to New York, trying to escape it, and here it is with me again. Because I can't escape my own damn self. I don't know what I thought was going to happen when I got here."

"Brian, you came here for a fresh start. Where people weren't comparing you before to you now. Remember?"

"I know."

"Why are you changing your mind now?"

"I'm not. I just...I don't know."

"Maybe you need to stop comparing you before to you now."

Brian was quiet for a moment, just breathing, before he turned to face Justin. When he spoke, his voice was soft. "I know. I thought I was past that. Thought I had moved on. But when we were in bed last night, and you came and I couldn't… I couldn't stop thinking about how everything had changed."

"I'm sorry."

"You don't need to apologize for anything. You were trying, and I was being an ass."

"You had a right. You still do. It's okay to be angry and upset about what your body can't do anymore. Trust me, I've been there."

"I know you have. This is different though."

"I don't think it is. You said it yourself, earlier, in the car. Or at least, you almost did. I loved to draw, and you loved to fuck."

"But you didn't lose your ability to draw."

"I did, though. I can't do it for more than 15 minutes at a time. And I had to learn how to do it differently because of that. You haven't lost everything here either. You just need to have an open mind and learn how to do it differently. What was that you told me once? 'Stop being a drama princess and come give it a try?'"

Brian rolled his eyes, but Justin could tell from the expression on his partner's face that his statement had hit home.

"I'm not a drama princess," Brian said.

"No, of course not, that's my job."

They finished unpacking the bedroom, then found a Thai restaurant in the phonebook that delivered, since neither of them felt like cooking after spending most of the day driving, and there wasn't any food in the apartment anyhow. As they sat at Brian's small dining room table tucked in the alcove off of the kitchen, Justin sighed contentedly at the thought of what he was about to embark on - no, what they were about to embark on, together. As a couple. As lovers. As partners. The greatest reunification.


	8. Alive

" _What about us? We don't have any beeps or wires or little white dots telling us we're alive, so how do we know? I guess we just take each other's word."_

Three weeks. Three weeks so far, in New York. Three weeks still fucking paralyzed. Three weeks wondering what he'd gotten himself into; what he'd expected he would get out of coming here.

Sure, his rational mind knew that it was stupid to think that somehow moving here would magically fix his fucked-up life, or that being with Justin would have the same effect. No, Brian Kinney was still wrapped up in his own goddamn head. And that's exactly where he was now, sipping Jim Beam right out of the bottle, on his familiar sofa in yet another new place, while he waited for Justin to come home from his little side job waiting tables at a cafe in his old neighborhood.

Justin's old neighborhood, because Brian had finally gotten the balls to ask him to move in. He'd gotten past the shaky hands and the sweaty palms and the rapid breathing that came along with anxiety - his new friend that had grown out of the fact that this version of Brian Kinney never felt good enough, worthy enough, for anything good. Although really, that wasn't new at all. The old Brian Kinney had felt the same, deep down. He'd always felt unworthy of certain things. It just never showed outwardly the way it did now. And it was fucking embarrassing as hell.

They'd been unpacking the bedroom, and Justin was taking care of hanging things up because it was easier for him to go in and out of the closet repeatedly, carrying things. Brian hadn't said anything; hadn't asked Justin to do that. It just happened. Brian was grateful that he didn't have to ask, although still a little pissed off at the way his disability intruded on everything, and underlied every decision now, no matter how small or how subtle. And how it made everything harder.

Brian hadn't gotten truly drunk in a long time. Really, not since his accident. The line in the sand that divided the life he'd lived for 35 years from the life he'd lived for not-quite-one. The word that he still had trouble speaking out loud. Maybe because voicing it would be the same as admitting its existence and the enormous impact it had on his life - and who he was as a person. He missed his old pain management techniques sometimes, too.

When he'd given up on work for the day and taken the bottle over to the sofa, he'd only intended on taking the edge off - numbing the dull ache in his head from the horrible day he'd had. He also hoped it would take away the shame he felt over wondering whether or not he'd made a mistake by coming here. Shame because he was afraid that if he said the wrong thing, Justin would think he meant that being with him was a mistake, and it wasn't. Not at all. Justin was the one good thing in Brian's seriously fucked-up existence. At least, that's how it seemed right now.

He hadn't taken any pain medication today, so he felt he'd be okay partaking of the whiskey, although he now saw in hindsight that he probably should have used a glass, because he didn't really know at this point how much he'd had. He only knew that he felt a little disoriented, and it didn't seem like there was enough gone from the bottle to produce that kind of effect. Maybe that was what happened when you hadn't had much to drink in nine months and suddenly decided to start swigging whiskey straight from the bottle. Brian used his hands to swing his legs up onto the sofa so he could lie down until the head rush passed.

The first few days in New York had been okay. Pretty nice, really. Justin was thrilled to be moving back in with Brian, and Brian was happy to not be alone. It had taken them four trips in Brian's car to retrieve Justin's belongings from the shoebox of a place he'd been sharing with a friend of Daphne's for over a year, but now he was officially, completely moved into Brian's apartment. Their apartment. Half of the second bedroom - the half closest to the windows, since it had more natural light - had been designated a studio space for Justin to work, while the other half contained Brian's desk and his computer, the colorful pens he used when he pretended to be an artist, and a few random toys that he mostly used to work out nervous tension and distract himself so he could hear his thoughts more clearly.

He always thought better when he had something to fidget with. He remembered how he used to get in trouble when he was a teenager for clicking his pen over and over and over again while he contemplated his homework at the kitchen table. His mother would only yell at him to quit clicking the damn pen already - his father wasn't home yet at that time, thankfully. If he had been, Brian was sure he would have had to adapt to thinking without clicking the pen, the same way he'd adapted to everything else he had to do to minimize how often he drew his parents' usually painful ire. Or maybe he would have just gone to Mikey's house to escape. He'd done that a lot too. Brian laughed to himself at the thought - he'd spent his entire life trying to escape from one thing or another, hadn't he?

And New York had seemed like it would be a promising escape. Sure, he was missing his family - although not his blood relatives - more than he'd thought he would, but most of the time, he felt like he was still glad to be here. Mostly because he was with Justin. Sometimes, though, the angry, resentful thoughts about his situation would take hold and he suddenly felt like he was back in rehab, shouting at Michael while his friend tried to comfort him, or quietly seething while he refused to talk to Rebecca. He wished he could figure out what was going on, so he could get off of the emotional rollercoaster. Trying to ride it out without letting Justin know about it was taking a heavy toll.

They'd spent Brian's first weekend in the city wrapped up in domestic bliss - filling the refrigerator with food, shopping for small household items, and just being together. It felt very couple-y, which an old version of Brian would certainly have resisted, maybe even detested, but this version kind of liked it. He found it comforting, to be honest. He'd spent a lot of his life alone in one way or another - either literally or figuratively. It had always been nice to have Justin around, even when he wouldn't have admitted it for the world, and he'd missed him in the times they'd been separated. He hoped that would never happen again. That meant he was going to need to keep from fucking it all up this time, the way he always had in the past.

Going around the city together had been nice, and Brian appreciated how no one seemed to be looking him up and down or trying to figure out where they knew him from, as always seemed to happen in Pittsburgh. But he did notice that when people interacted with the two of them now, they tended to speak more to Justin than him, which felt strange. When they were together before, it had always been reversed, perhaps because Brian was older - though he hoped he didn't look it - or maybe just because he was taller. Who knows? And did it really matter anyhow? He made a conscious choice not to worry too much about it, instead focusing on trying to immerse himself in his new environment and enjoying being with Justin, while trying to push the dark thoughts of feeling not-good-enough out of his head.

That had been a tall order the past few weeks. It was as if all of the excitement of making the big move had awakened something that he'd managed to bury a little bit in his subconscious, and he'd found himself struggling to keep a lot of negative feelings at bay. Reuniting with Justin had made him feel happier and more at ease than he'd felt in months, but there was still this monster lurking just below the surface, and it was starting to reach its tentacles out of the water, threatening to drag him under. He needed to avoid dragging Justin under too, because that would almost certainly fuck it all up. So that meant keeping the way he felt to himself, or at least trying to. Justin had asked Brian to be honest with him, but Brian was afraid of what would happen if he was. If Justin knew what was going on inside his head.

He knew that his mood had been less-than-cheerful most of the time lately, maybe even bordering on erratic. He felt like all of the progress he'd been making toward accepting how his life had changed had been knocked back to start, like some kind of sick and twisted board game, except this was his real life. He'd briefly wondered if maybe he needed to talk to someone about this, but quickly dismissed the thought. He'd indulged Rebecca quite enough during his month in rehab, and he hadn't particularly enjoyed delving deep into the recesses of his extremely fucked-up mind. It had been pretty fucked up before the accident, and it definitely was now. What difference would it make anyway if he talked to someone? It certainly hadn't made much of one then. The only thing that really helped were the drugs, and now it seemed they weren't helping anymore. Every time he felt like he was getting closer to accepting his current reality, something else would come up to shove him back down. He felt like he couldn't win.

Today had definitely been one of those days. It had started out as usual, with Brian in his home office, on a conference call with Ted and Cynthia back in Pittsburgh. Ted needed Brian to review a few things and send them back with electronic signatures, and Cynthia reminded him that he had a lunch meeting later with a potential new client. That was one benefit to Brian being in New York now - he had a much larger pool from which to try to recruit new accounts. Of course, there was also a lot more competition, but Brian's ego still told him he was unequivocally the best at his job, and they'd have to be idiots to turn him down and go with another agency. Just like he'd said to potential clients when he started Kinnetik - you can be just another account in some huge agency with an assistant's assistant taking care of your shit, or you can get personal attention in a boutique agency from the person who owns the goddamn company. Being in New York was going to give Brian an opportunity to make a good first impression, in-person, without having to fly anyone out to the Pitts.

So he'd signed and sent back the documents Ted needed, and spent the morning looking over a campaign with some absolutely for-shit artwork that was going to need a total overhaul before they ever dreamed of presenting it to a client. God help the art department the next time he was in town - they were going to need it if they wanted to keep their jobs. Maybe he should check with Justin again, to see if he was ready to take Brian up on the position he'd offered him two years before.

Bad artwork aside, the day still wasn't going too poorly at that point. Michael had called mid-morning, just to chat. Brian was thankful that Michael was calling on a day when he was in a fairly good mood, because otherwise it wouldn't have been a pleasant conversation for either of them, particularly for Michael. He'd already been on the receiving end of Brian's wrath, more than once, but Brian still didn't relish the thought of unloading it on him again. Brian felt he'd abused their friendship enough in the past nine months.

After hanging up with Michael, it was time to get ready for his business lunch, and he spent an hour cleaning himself up and changing into one of his most expensive suits and a pair of designer shoes. Checking himself out in the full-length mirror always felt strange now, because he still wasn't quite used to the new image of himself. But his suit looked good, even sitting down, so he felt confident that he could impress his client with his appearance if nothing more.

When he left the apartment and headed to the restaurant, that was when the day started to go south. First, he'd completely forgotten to check and make sure that the subway station he'd be exiting at had an elevator. It didn't. So he had to get back on the train and go past his stop until he found one that did. Thankfully it was only one stop and five blocks north of where he'd intended to go, but that was still five blocks that he had to wheel back down to get to where he needed to go. All the while contending with leftover snow and ice crusted in random spots on the sidewalk from the mid-March snowstorm they'd had earlier in the week. And that little detour had made him late. But it was his own damn fault for not looking at the map more carefully.

Then, about halfway there, he ran into a sidewalk that was closed for some nearby construction, and had to cross the street, go down a block, then cross back. Only he hadn't looked before crossing back to notice that they'd put their stupid "sidewalk closed" sign right in the middle of the curb cut, and the damn thing was weighted down with sandbags so it wouldn't get knocked over in a strong wind. There would be no nudging it out of the way. So he had to find the spot with the least snow and ice, then put his curb jumping skills to use, which he was thankful he had at all, although it was annoying to have to use them simply because someone setting out a sign had been inconsiderate. Then again, he'd once been one of the able-bodied fucks who didn't think one bit about whether or not a place or a situation was wheelchair-friendly or not. So whatever.

When he finally made it to the restaurant, he was 15 minutes late even though he'd left his apartment 15 minutes early, and he really didn't want to list off his excuses to the client because they were all about the damn wheelchair. If he didn't want to be judged for his disability, he was also going to have to not use it as an excuse. So, he was late, and he had no good reason to be, or at least that was how he figured it appeared to his client. Brian apologized profusely, but he was already agitated at having made a poor first impression, which made it difficult to concentrate on showing the man the drafts he'd come up with for the company's print campaign. He felt disheveled and flustered, not his typical put-together, calm-under-pressure self. He was seriously off his game.

When they parted ways, Brian felt confident that he'd just wasted his time and effort, and it was mostly because he'd been late - partly because of his own stupidity, and partly due to the stupidity of others. Not to mention the fact that, for the entire meeting, the guy had been looking at him with that same stupid, simpering look people got on their faces when they felt sorry for him and were just being polite and pretending to listen. He'd wanted to storm out before even finishing his meal, because he was so tired of being looked at that way, but he stuck it out and pushed his frustration down to fester beneath the surface. He'd probably brought it on himself by arriving so late, anyhow.

Already defeated and ready to just go home and be done with this day, Brian went back five blocks out of his way again to catch a downtown train, this time planning ahead to avoid the closed sidewalk, only to get there and find that the elevator to the downtown-bound platform was out of service. Fuck.

So, a cab it would be, then. Except the small mounds of snow and ice on the curb were making it difficult to get close enough to the street to hail one. And once he did get close enough, they all kept passing him by. Fucking empty taxi cabs, dozens of them, and no one would stop for him. Likely assuming his crippled ass couldn't get in the goddamn car. Michael or Justin would probably beat the shit out of him for using that word to describe himself. But it was an accurate descriptor for how he felt right now.

Finally, a cabbie willing to take the gamble stopped for him, and after a small battle with the snow and ice, he was in the back seat with all of the pieces of his wheelchair - the wretched thing that now seemed to make up the entire lead paragraph of the Brian Kinney story. The New York chapter was no fucking different. He was disgusted with himself for being delusional enough to ever think it would be.

Eventually, he found himself back at his apartment - the space where everything was thoughtfully designed and appointed to accommodate his broken body. The way he wished the world would be. But at the same time, he wished it didn't need to be.

His head was hurting, he was tired, and he was incredibly frustrated - with the world, sure, but mostly with himself.

Brian took off his coat, threw it over the side of the armchair in the corner of the living room, and went in the bedroom to change into more comfortable clothes. He was cold from sitting out on the sidewalk for so long trying to hail the damn cab, so sweatpants and a long sleeved t-shirt sounded good right now. He didn't have any more conference calls today, so no one was going to see him except Justin. And Justin wouldn't be back for hours yet.

He went back into his office and tried to do some more work, but the ache in his head was keeping him from concentrating. So he called Ted and told him that he wasn't feeling well and was going to go take a nap. He tried to ignore the obvious concern that had been in Ted's voice, likely in response to the fact that Brian sounded like shit - exhausted and more than a little irritated.

But instead of lying down in the bedroom, Brian took a detour into the kitchen, where he found the nearly full bottle of Jim Beam he'd brought with him from Pittsburgh to New York City. This - this was what he needed today. Pain management. He took the bottle over to the sofa, opened it up, and took a sip. It burned a little going down, but it was a good kind of hurt. Familiar. His old friend. Brian settled in to numb out - to shove back the darkness and the pain and the despair behind a curtain of alcohol.

The jingle of keys in the lock were the first sound to herald Justin's arrival home, followed by the turn of the knob and his always quick, short footsteps. Brian couldn't see him because he was still lying down, and he was still fucking dizzy. He turned the whiskey bottle over in his hand and realized he'd now consumed more than half of it. He really hadn't intended to drink that much. It was much darker outside now than he remembered it being. How long had he been lying there?

"Brian?" Justin said, as his footsteps neared the sofa. "Are you okay?"

Brian snorted in response, but didn't say anything. Fuck. What the fuck was he going to do now? He was drunk and his head was spinning in more ways than one, and he didn't know how he was going to get out of this without Justin knowing once and for all what a colossal screw-up he'd shacked up with. Brian felt like a fucking head case. Maybe he was.

Then Justin's gaze landed on the bottle in Brian's hand.

"Have you been drinking?"

"Excellent deduction. Give the boy a prize." Christ, what the fuck was he saying? He knew he needed to reign it in, but the alcohol had taken his filter away completely.

The look on Justin's face wasn't angry though - he seemed puzzled, and more than a bit worried.

"Did something happen today?" he said.

Brian shrugged and reached an arm out to hand Justin the bottle. He took it and carried it over to the island between the kitchen and the living room.

"You know you can talk to me, right?" Justin said as he came back into the living room. "About anything. We're partners, remember?"

"I can't put this on you," Brian said as he used his arms to push himself up into a sitting position, trying his best to ignore the wave of dizziness that came over him.

"Put what on me?"

"How fucked up I am." Brian pushed his legs off the edge of the sofa, letting his feet thump to the floor.

"What are you talking about?"

Brian didn't answer. Instead, he concentrated his energy on keeping the world from tilting as he reached for his wheelchair so he could give himself the power to leave the room and this conversation. He didn't want to talk to Justin right now. He didn't want to talk to anyone. He wanted to go to bed and get this god-forsaken day over with. But all of his concentration wasn't enough. His hand slipped, and he landed crookedly on the seat cushion, too far forward, which paired with his current lack of balance thanks to the alcohol, ended in him sliding down onto the floor into a tangled heap.

"Goddamnit!" he shouted, angrily smacking his hand on the hardwood floor. He could hear that his voice was thick with the tears that were threatening to fall from his eyes. The next thing he knew, he was crying out of sheer rage - what a strange mix of emotions, he thought - and wishing to all that was holy that he could just get back in control of himself, and of his emotions, but he felt like there was nothing he could do to stop it. It was all happening before he knew what he was doing, like his body was ahead of his brain. Come on, Kinney...pull yourself together...this isn't you, he thought to himself as he tried - and failed - to at least stop crying and just be fucking angry. At least anger would be in line with the persona that was Brian Fucking Kinney. The person he used to be.

The next thing Brian knew, Justin was crouching down in front of him, obviously concerned. As well he should have been, since his partner was currently going completely fucking crazy.

"Are you alright? Did you hurt yourself?" Justin's hands were on Brian's shoulders.

Laughter now joined the tears and the rage. God, what was wrong with him? Why couldn't he stop this?

"Brian!" Justin physically grabbed Brian's face with both hands and turned it toward him, forcing their eyes to meet. "Answer me. Are you hurt?"

"Not any more than I already was."

"That's not funny."

"Who said it was?" Brian used his hands to pull his legs out of the awkward position they'd ended up in beneath his body and flopped them straight out onto the floor in front of him. "Eh, they look okay I guess. Still dead." One of them took that cue to shake a bit. Fucking spasms. Dead except for that, then.

"That's not funny either."

"Suit yourself, Sunshine. Gotta laugh or you'll end up crying. Oh, wait…" Brian laughed sardonically.

Justin apparently chose to ignore Brian's self-deprecating comment. "Do you need help getting back up?" he asked.

"No."

"Okay."

They both stared at each other for a few moments. Brian noticed that Justin seemed to be waiting for something. At least the tears had dried up.

"Well?" Justin said. "Are you getting back up? Or are you staying on the floor all night?"

"Later. I just want to stay here for now."

Justin sat down on the floor near Brian's feet. "Okay," he said. "Are you ready to tell me what happened now?"

"I want to be alone. Please." The fury had given way to desperation, and Brian cursed the way his voice broke on the last word. But Justin listened and gave him space.

Justin got up and went down the hall to their shared office/studio, Brian presumed to paint. Art was Justin's form of pain management. Right now, it was seeming like a much more sensible one than drinking yourself into oblivion until you fall on your ass on the floor in your own living room.

Brian lay on his back in the floor, staring at the ceiling for a long time. It was uncomfortable, but he also had absolutely no idea how he was going to get back up in his wheelchair, given that another dizzy spell would hit him any time he tried to sit up. He'd gotten himself into a fine mess this time. And he didn't even feel better. He felt worse.

Justin came back into the room after about a half an hour and sat back down next to Brian's feet.

"You can't stay on the floor all night, you know," Justin said. "It's too hard; it's bad for your skin."

"I didn't ask for a public service announcement."

"Then get up off the floor."

Brian pushed his torso up and rotated so that his back was leaning on the front of the couch, and waited for the room to stop spinning again. Since when he had become such a lightweight? Just another thing to be disgusted with himself about. He could add that one to the list right after the fact that he was definitely going to need Justin's help to get back in his chair. He hadn't done a floor-to-chair transfer since rehab - he'd had no need to - and he'd certainly never done it drunk.

"You know, I think I know a lot about how you're feeling," Justin sighed as he leaned against the sofa next to Brian.

"Oh yeah? I don't think you do."

"I do. Remember Cody? The Pink Posse?"

"This is different."

"How? Just because you're not running around beating people up and threatening to shoot them? I did all of that because I had feelings about the bashing that I hadn't dealt with. When Darren asked me what I did to stop my attacker, I felt like a coward, because I'd done nothing. I was angry at myself for not doing more. And I ended up going out with Cody and taking that anger out on other people. You're angry about what happened to you, too. You feel like it's not fair. And it's not. But you can't just sit on that forever. It won't just go away if you try not to think about it."

Brian was looking straight ahead at the wall the entire time Justin was talking. Damned if this kid couldn't read him like a fucking book, though.

"I know you don't like to talk about the bashing. I know you're fucked up from it too, just like I am. I respected that, and I didn't want to cause you pain, so I quit trying to talk to you about it. But back then, I needed to be able to talk about it. I needed to deal with it. You can't keep shutting this stuff away, Brian. Closing it off somewhere. You have to deal with it. You need to talk about it. If not with me, with somebody. You haven't been yourself since we got to New York."

"That obvious, huh?"

"I know you, Brian. And this isn't you."

"I don't want to saddle you with my baggage."

"You're not. We're partners. I love you. I want to help you," Justin said, his voice earnest. "But you have to be honest with me, remember?"

Brian leaned his head back against the sofa and closed his eyes. He'd been dreading this. He really didn't want to tell Justin that sometimes he felt like he was losing his mind. Today, he felt like he'd lost his grip on reality. Maybe he had.

"I need you to tell me what's going on," Justin said. "So I can help you."

Brian was quiet for a few moments, taking the time to push away his pride as best he could. Although he'd already made a fool of himself, so what would it matter now?

"Help me up first...please," Brian said, his voice barely audible, keeping his eyes closed so he wouldn't have to look at Justin's face, which likely held more love and compassion than he deserved right now.

Justin didn't say anything in response. Brian felt Justin's hands come under his arms, and Justin helped him drag his body back onto the couch. Thankfully, the world wasn't spinning anymore.

Once Brian was settled, Justin sat down next to him and took his hand. Brian didn't pull it away; he was grateful for the physical contact, because at this moment, it was grounding him. Keeping him from getting lost in his head again.

"Tell me what happened today."

"Just a for-shit day. One that kept reminding me at every goddamn turn that I'm fucking disabled now."

"There's more to you than just that."

"I don't know, Sunshine. And I realized that I don't know what I thought was going to happen when I got here. People here don't know me, sure, and most of them are too wrapped up in their own heads to worry about me. Hell, I'm like that too. Sometimes I like being invisible. But when I actually need to fucking...interact with people...it's the same shit, different place."

"Do you wish you'd stayed in Pittsburgh?"

"No, because you're not there. You make me happy. Even if I'm not acting like it right now." Brian paused, running the palm of his right hand over his thigh nervously. "I feel like I'm losing some invisible battle inside my mind. I thought I was done feeling like that months ago."

"Who said you had to be done with it? There's no deadline here."

"I said."

"Why?" Justin pulled their intertwined hands into his lap and leaned his head on Brian's shoulder.

"Because I don't feel like myself right now. I want to feel like myself. But what is that right now? I thought I knew, but now, I don't know. I don't like this person."

"Well, I do."

"Maybe you're just crazy too."

"Maybe I am. But I know that I love you, and I care about you. And I want you to be happy. Not pretending to be happy for my sake. You can't be happy if you're keeping all of this shit bottled up. Trust me, I've been there. You need to talk to me. Or if you don't want to talk to me, then you need to talk to someone else. But you have to talk about it."

They were both silent for a while, before Justin sat up and looked Brian straight in the eyes, a serious expression on his face.

"You scared me tonight," he said. "I thought you were having a breakdown."

"I think maybe I was. It just...happened. I wanted to stop and I couldn't."

"You needed to get it out. You can only push it aside for so long. Eventually, it's going to come out, and when it does, it's going to be hell. So, who's it going to be...me, or somebody else?"

"Believe me, you don't want me to lay all of this off on you, Sunshine. It's a huge pile of shit. I can't do that to you."

"Then will you find someone else you can talk to? Please?" Justin said, his voice barely audible by the time he finished the sentence. "If you won't do it for yourself, will you do it for me?"

Brian wanted to say that he didn't do psychology or psychobabble, but he also didn't want to put Justin through any more of what he had tonight. Clearly, something was wrong, and as much as it pained him to admit it, he couldn't handle it on his own. And he knew enough about what was going on inside his head to know that it was far outside of Justin's scope anyhow. He wasn't going to have a choice this time. If he ever wanted to get past the mire of denial and anger and bargaining and depression, he'd have to actually talk about this. Admit that it had happened. That it wasn't changing. That he couldn't turn back the clock and make it not happen. And ignoring it wasn't going to make it go away.

"Try not to think about it" had resulted in not being able to think about anything else. And if he was being honest with himself, this change of scenery had been another way to try not to think about it. To deal with things in the usual Brian Kinney way. Only it wasn't working for him anymore. It was working about as well as the alcohol had tonight. Not very well. Not very well at all.

They were lying in bed before Brian gave his answer to Justin's question. Justin was curled against Brian's side and hugging him close, his blond head resting on Brian's chest. He knew Justin did this when he wanted to hear Brian's heartbeat - he'd done it nearly every night when he'd had cancer. As if he was checking to be sure Brian was still alive. Still there with him.

He was still there. He wanted to be there, with Justin. He wanted nothing more. And he knew what he had to do in order to stay.

"Okay," Brian whispered in the darkness. "I'll do it."


	9. Repercussions

" _So I can tell you what a motherfucking piece of shit you are for not telling me! For shutting me out. For thinking that you could handle this on your own."_

"Okay," Justin heard Brian's nearly inaudible whisper in the darkness, his own head rising and falling slightly with the movement of his lover's chest. "I'll do it."

The younger man lifted his head and kissed Brian's chest first, then his lips.

"You deserve to be happy," Justin said as he brushed a stray lock of hair from Brian's forehead. "I want you to be happy."

He pulled his arm tighter around Brian's body and settled his head back down on the older man's chest, feeling the faint thump of his partner's heartbeat under the skin and bone. The sound of life flowing through Brian's body reminded Justin how lucky he was that the only thing he'd come home to was a drunk Brian, and not a dead one. With the mental state Brian seemed to be in at the moment, Justin was afraid that might not have been too far of a reach, even if Brian would have denied it. Justin remembered how desperate he had felt when he'd realized his hand was never going to be the same again, and he'd never be able to draw as easily as he once had. He also remembered the story of Lindsay's artist friend Adrienne, and how she said she would roll herself off a cliff if she couldn't paint, so she had to find a way to make it work. You need a release when you're dealing with something this big, this life-changing. And he knew Brian didn't have one. He was incredibly grateful that Brian hadn't been that desperate today. And he prayed that he never would be.

The last time Justin had seen Brian that drunk was when he was standing at the top of the stairs in Michael and Ben's house, watching Brian and Michael shout at each other in the space between the kitchen and the living room. He'd never seen them fight like that before. He'd never seen Brian that wasted before, either. And it was all because of him.

He remembered wincing as he heard each sentence of the exchange - the two best friends spewing venom at each other like lifelong enemies instead of two men who, with their history together, might as well have been brothers. Justin hated that they were ruining their friendship over him. He was thankful that they'd eventually found a common ground and forgiven each other, although he wished that it hadn't taken a bomb and Michael nearly dying for them to find it.

The bombing at Babylon also led to another reconciliation - this one for him and Brian. Brian finally saying the three little words Justin had waited so long and wanted so desperately to hear, as they stood on the street in the middle of the melee, their faces smudged with soot. Even though the bombing was a horrible tragedy, it was an event that had changed the course of their lives forever. And Justin had to wonder, where would they all be if it hadn't happened? Where would he and Brian have ended up?

Now, a different event had changed the course of Brian's life once again, and Justin's life in turn. Where would they be if it hadn't been for Brian losing control of the Corvette on a rainy Wednesday last June? Would they still be apart, with hardly any contact except their weekly phone call to catch up and talk about nothing? Would they have reconnected the way they had over the Christmas holiday? Or would Justin have come for his visit and then headed back home to New York, leaving Brian to lead his separate life in Pittsburgh? Would they have lost touch, eventually? Moved on?

Where would Brian be if the accident hadn't happened? And what was to become of him now? That was the million dollar question. And neither he nor Brian had the answer at this point.

Over the course of the month of March, the Brian who had seemed relatively well-adjusted - at least, as much as could be expected - from December to February had morphed into someone who definitely was not coping well. It had become painfully clear to Justin in the last few weeks that Brian apparently hadn't really dealt with any of this at all. He saw it every time that his lover would suddenly go silent in the middle of a conversation and leave the room, or when he would emerge from a very long shower with swollen, red eyes that Justin would pretend he hadn't noticed. Brian had just been pushing it all aside, trying not think about it, and letting it smolder until it exploded.

Justin guessed the fuse had been lit earlier in the day, and it burned slowly while Brian drank, for however long he'd been doing that until Justin came home from work and found him very drunk, lying on the sofa. Whatever had happened, it must have been bad. So Justin tried to ask about it. And that's when the explosion happened. The culmination of nine months of anger and frustration and sadness and fear - and failing to deal with those emotions - detonated in the middle of their living room, exactly as Justin had feared might eventually happen. Really, the fuse had been lit months ago, and it was no small wonder that it hadn't ignited before now.

Brian, who apparently didn't want to talk about what had happened that day or any other day, but instead wanted to leave the room and end the discussion - again - ended up falling while trying to get back into his wheelchair. Justin had anticipated an ill-mannered or bitter reaction to that from Brian because he was probably embarrassed - that would have been typical Brian. Using an emotion that allowed him to feel in control to conceal one that made him feel vulnerable. But what happened was exactly the opposite.

Justin had not been expecting the tears. Not at all. Justin's first thought was that Brian had hurt himself - he'd landed hard and that floor was very unforgiving. But then came the pounding and the fury and the sarcasm and the strange laughter straight through the tears, and Justin's next thought was, oh my god, he's having a breakdown. Justin would never forget the fear he saw in Brian's eyes in that moment. Pure, unadulterated fear that Brian hadn't been able to bury underneath aloofness or cynicism or mask as anger. And Justin didn't know what to do.

He wanted to fall to his knees next to his lover - his partner - and hold him close, comfort him, but he was afraid Brian would push him away and shut down completely. So he decided to take an assertive, no-nonsense approach instead, to see if he could play off the smartass remarks Brian was making to bring him back into reality, and it seemed to work at first. The laughter and the crying stopped, at least. The derision he could deal with; that was just Brian. He was used to that. Then Brian asked to be alone for a while, and his voice broke when he said it. That sound made Justin's heart hurt.

Justin really didn't want to leave him alone, but felt like he didn't have a choice. He needed to respect Brian's autonomy and not treat him like a child who didn't know what he wanted or couldn't be trusted. And Justin was the only one who could easily leave the room at that moment. So he left and went into the work space they both shared, knowing full well that he'd only be sitting in there, doing nothing, trying to give Brian some space, all the while wishing he could go back out there and curl up next to him and hold him - assure him that he was going to be okay, and they'd deal with it together.

So Justin sat in the chair under the window in the office for what felt like an eternity, his ears tuned to what was going on in the living room. He didn't hear much of anything; Brian was quiet. Probably just thinking. When he felt like he'd given Brian sufficient time to gather his thoughts and calm down, he went back into the living room.

Brian did ask him for help getting back up off the floor, as Justin suspected he might need but was too proud or ashamed to ask. But Justin still couldn't get Brian to say much about what had just happened, or why. Only that he'd had a for-shit day that kept reminding him of how different his life was now, and that he felt like he was losing his mind. That he'd felt that way for a while. When he said that, Justin wanted to hug Brian and never let him go. He also wanted to punch something. Hard. In that moment, Justin had to put a lot of effort into not feeling angry at Brian for not fucking telling him how he felt. For not giving Justin a chance to help him. He felt like he was being shut out again, even though they'd been living together for nearly a month now. But Justin knew that adding his own anger to the pile wasn't going to help. He couldn't be mad at Brian. And he knew exactly how Brian felt.

After the bashing, when he was out of the hospital and back living with Brian, Justin had still felt like his life was spiraling out of control. There was no fixing this, and Justin didn't know how to deal with that. And a lot of that came out in angry, out of control fits of rage. His hand got better every day, but it would never be 100%. He got more comfortable being in public with Brian's help, but he knew that if the wrong situation presented itself, his post-traumatic stress would rear its ugly head and he'd find himself having a flashback that led to a panic attack. He would never be the same person he was before, even though his brain injury hadn't affected his personality at all. He couldn't be the same person. Just like Brian couldn't possibly be the same person now that he was a year ago, even if desperately he wanted to be.

For years, every time something came up related to what happened on prom night, Brian would tell Justin to "try not to think about it." That strategy worked until it didn't. Until the pent up frustration ignited the hatred and fury that led him to join Cody's band of queer vigilantes, which quickly became just he and Cody against the straight world. He finally dealt with his feelings about what had happened to him the night he stuck a gun in Chris Hobbs' mouth and nearly pulled the trigger. When he forced the man - no, the monster - to apologize for causing him brain damage and permanent injury. For giving him nightmares every night for two years. For filling him with fear every time he walked out the door. For treating him like a subhuman who didn't deserve to live. He'd gotten his revenge by showing Chris Hobbs what it felt like to fear for your life. And it allowed him to finally let go of the resentment and the fear he'd been holding inside for two years.

Justin knew Brian was just as filled with resentment and fear now as Justin had been back then. And he also knew that getting Brian to admit to any of it was going to be a tall order. But he had to if he was ever going to deal with those emotions and be able to move on.

So as they went to sleep that night, Justin was relieved that Brian had agreed to talk to someone who could help him. And he was prouder of Brian than he ever had been in the six years they'd known each other, because he knew Brian well enough to know just how hard that had been for him to do. Asking for help simply wasn't in Brian Kinney's vocabulary. Neither was talking about his feelings.

Justin was reminded of when Brian had cancer, and had lied to him from the start. Telling him that he was going to Ibiza for a vacation rather than to Johns Hopkins to have a testicle removed. Pretending that everything was okay, when it obviously wasn't. And Justin being too afraid to let on that he knew - that he'd overheard the doctor leaving a message on Brian's answering machine. When Brian found out that Justin knew, he threw him out - because Brian Kinney was too proud, too strong of a man, to accept help from anyone. To admit weakness. He wanted to handle it on his own. Whatever happened to what he had told Justin years ago: A man needs to know when to ask for help?

Back then, Justin had to force Brian to accept help, by showing up at the loft and refusing to leave. Forcing Brian to let him in. To let him help. To let him show his love the way that you do when someone you care about is in need. Getting Brian to accept love was a challenge on a good day, and even more difficult when he was already feeling exposed. Vulnerable.

Justin didn't have a good, solid reference in the Kinney Operating Manual for the situation they found themselves in now. He just hoped he could blindly feel his way through it, so he could help Brian. And hope that Brian would keep up his end of the bargain, and let him. That he hadn't changed his mind at some point in the middle of the night, and decided to continue trying to muddle through this mess alone, leaving Justin behind him to try to pick up the pieces.

Justin awoke to Brian groaning next to him in bed as he rolled over and covered his eyes with his forearm, muttering something about turning off the sun.

"Morning," Justin said softly, sure that Brian probably had a terrible headache after drinking what appeared to be half a bottle of Jim Beam in the span of several hours. "How are you feeling?"

"Like shit. God, why did I do that?" Brian moaned, flipping himself back over onto his stomach and burying his face in the pillow. Now that Brian's right side was facing Justin, he could see a large bruise spreading across the older man's hip. Justin reached his hand out to hesitantly touch it.

"Can you feel that?"

"Feel what?"

"Guess not."

Brian craned his neck to look down toward where Justin's fingers lay on his hip. "Christ," he said.

"I hope you didn't break anything."

"Does it matter?"

"I don't know. Probably."

"Not like I'm ever going to walk again."

"You don't know that. They're working on experimental treatments all the time."

"Justin Taylor, the eternal optimist." Brian turned his face back toward the pillow and sighed as he released his head back down.

"People don't call me sunshine for nothing." Justin ran his hand up Brian's back, his fingers lightly tracing the scar over his spine.

"And here I thought it was just your smile," Brian said into the pillow.

"Brian Kinney, the eternal pessimist."

"I prefer realist. What time is it?"

"Almost nine."

"Fuck!" Brian quickly pushed himself back over onto his side and up into a sitting position, throwing the covers back. "I'm supposed to be on a call right now."

"No, you're not," Justin said, his eyes scanning down Brian's legs, where he saw more bruises on his knees. "I called Ted last night while you were in the shower."

"Great," Brian groused. "What did you tell him?"

"That you weren't feeling well and probably should take tomorrow off, but that you'd never admit that yourself, so I was making the decision for you. He sounded worried. Said you'd called him earlier and told him you were going to take a nap."

"What else did he say?"

"That he hopes you feel better soon."

Brian snorted. "Not likely. Unless you have a cure for this," Brian stopped and slapped his thigh with his right hand, "then I think it's going to be a long time until I feel better."

"Brian-"

"Sunshine, stop." Brian pulled his pillow out from behind him and propped it up on the headboard, then leaned back against it. "I know."

"What?"

"That I can't keep trying to do this on my own. Clearly, I've been doing a bang-up job. I proved that last night."

Justin propped his own pillow up next to Brian's and leaned into his lover's shoulder, wrapping an arm around him. "It's okay to not be okay, you know. That doesn't make you weak."

"Christ, you sound like Rebecca, that therapist they made me talk to in rehab. Or, she talked to me, at least. I didn't talk much to her."

"Why not?"

Brian shrugged. "Didn't want to. I didn't see how it was going to help."

"Do you still feel that way?"

"I don't know. Maybe. Maybe not. But I can't keep doing to you what I did last night."

"I don't give a fuck about me. Do whatever you want to me; I'll deal with it. I care about you. I don't know what that was last night, but you can't keep doing that to yourself."

"I know," Brian sighed. "Believe me, I know. I just don't know where to start."

"Maybe call Rebecca? See if she has any connections here in New York?"

"I'm sure she'll be incredibly impressed at what a fuck up I've managed to become."

"Hey, don't talk about my boyfriend like that." Justin kissed Brian on the cheek. "This shit's hard. I'm sure she knows that. No one said it was going to be easy. But I think it'll be a lot easier if you don't keep trying to go it alone."

It turned out that Rebecca did have some connections in New York, and referred Brian to one of her former grad school classmates who had set up a private practice in the city. Justin was thankful that Brian was able get an appointment fairly quickly. He was afraid Brian would downplay what had happened when he talked to Rebecca, but he hadn't. He'd told her the whole story. Every detail. And Justin couldn't help but hearing the slight edge in Brian's voice - fear, mixed with shame - as he recounted the tale. But it was clear that Brian felt more comfortable talking with her than he had let on. That was a good thing. Progress.

A few days later, Justin was working on a painting when Brian came into their shared studio/office space after his first appointment. Justin's eyes landed on a small bag from the pharmacy on Brian's lap.

"Better living through chemistry," he said, going up to Justin and grabbing his arms to pull him down for a kiss.

"How was it?" Justin asked, not sure if Brian would be willing to talk about it, but he wanted to try. Brian's mood already seemed a little better than it had been that morning. Less heavy. Like some of the weight had been lifted.

Brian went over to his desk, set the bag down, and turned on his computer. "So, this is kind of like when I had cancer," he said. "Only it's not."

Justin put his brushes into a cup of water and wiped his hands on a paint-splotched rag before pulling his own desk chair over to where Brian was. He threw one leg over it and straddled it, sitting backward, his arms folded across the top of the chair. "Okay," he said. "What does that mean?"

Taking a deep breath, Brian turned slightly so that he and Justin were facing each other, resting his forearm on the desk. "When I had cancer, I felt imperfect...damaged. Defective. Diseased. All things I never wanted to feel or be. I'd spent my entire adult life trying to be the best at everything...always. I wanted people to see me as perfect. Beautiful. Young."

Justin scooted his chair a bit closer and put a hand over Brian's.

"Then I got cancer," Brian continued, "and I had to face not being perfect. Only I didn't face it...not really. I tried to keep it hidden because it made me feel weak. And even after you and Michael and Ted and Debbie knew, it was still private. Something people didn't know about when they saw me. And I recovered...fully. Fake ball and all."

"Then this happened," Justin said.

"Right. And it's the same, only different. I'm back to being imperfect. Defective. But this time I can't hide it. It's the first thing people see. And it's not going to get better. I'm never going to recover."

"Yes, you will. It's just different." Justin rubbed his thumb over Brian's hand. "Recovering doesn't have to mean going back to being exactly the same as you were before. Maybe recovering for you now means becoming the best version of yourself you can possibly be."

"I don't know what that would be, though."

"You'll figure it out. I know you will."

The next week, Brian came home talking about ghosts. The ghost of his past self, coming back to haunt him.

"Wherever you go, there you are?" Justin said as they sat together at the dining room table, digging into a simple meal of chicken and vegetables.

"Something like that. I knew I couldn't get away from it in Pittsburgh, because so many people know me. The curse of always trying to be the best at everything - too many people recognize you."

"That's part of who you are though, isn't it? Brian Kinney, the best ad man in the Pitts, the stud of Liberty Avenue."

"Who I was," Brian corrected him as he sipped his water. "I can't be that man anymore. I don't want people to recognize me."

"Why not?"

"Good question. I don't know. I don't like it anymore. When people recognize me now, it's not because they're thinking I'm the best at something, or because they're impressed, or they're jealous of me. It's because they see I'm different."

"You don't know that. You're not inside their heads."

"No, but I can see their faces."

"Through your own lens, though. The one that sees yourself as broken."

Brian was quiet for a few seconds, pushing broccoli around on his plate. "Anyway, I thought I was getting away from the ghosts by coming here. But they followed me. I guess because they're really inside my own head."

"So how do you get rid of them?"

"Hell if I know. It might take awhile."

"That's okay," Justin said as he got up and moved his chair over by Brian's, before leaning in to give him a hug and a kiss. "I'll be here. I'll help you. If you'll let me."

Brian returned the kiss, and Justin knew that it was Brian's way of saying, "Thank you. I love you. I appreciate you." Brian Kinney still didn't talk much about his feelings, but he had his own ways of making them known, and Justin was grateful that he could now see those ways for what they were. He'd made the mistake before of trying to take Brian at face value, expecting him to verbalize everything, and it wasn't a mistake he was willing to repeat. Even if Brian rarely spoke the words I love you, thank you, I appreciate you, he said them a million times over through his actions. You just had to be willing to see it.

Justin wasn't expecting or even wanting Brian to become an expert at expressing his emotions in words; that wouldn't have been Brian. That wasn't the man he fell in love with. But he did hope that Brian would be able to find peace. To feel strong again. To free himself from the ghosts that were haunting him, holding him hostage, and not allowing him to move on with his life. Already, their grip didn't seem to be as strong. Brian was starting to smile a little more. He seemed more relaxed. And less like he was hiding something dark that he didn't want anyone else to know about.

All actions have an equal and opposite reaction. A repercussion. Changing one thing creates a domino effect that changes everything that happens afterward. And even if you feel like you'd be changing something for the better - to avoid pain and hurt and tragedy - you'd still have to give up everything good that happened afterward, in exchange for changing that one thing.

So while Justin often wished that he could somehow make Brian's accident not happen, he also had to recognize how the dominos had fallen. How this event that had completely upended Brian's life had also reunited them. Their renewed commitment to one another was a reverberation that had come from something terrible, just as the bashing, cancer, and the bombing had brought them closer together after threatening to push them apart. Where would they be now, had June 21st of last year played out differently? No one knows for sure. But it doesn't matter, because it did happen, and there was no turning back now. Things would be different now for both of them - there was no getting around that - but different wasn't necessarily a bad thing. And Justin hoped that Brian was as grateful as he was to have the opportunity to navigate the rest of the journey - challenging as it would be - hand in hand.

After all, sometimes a man's got to know when to ask for help.


	10. Desire

" _I know it's scarier finding your own way than doing what's expected."_

"What do you want out of your life now?"

That was the question Rochelle had asked not even ten minutes into their first session together. Brian still wasn't thrilled to be talking to someone about his innermost thoughts, because in his past experience, his mind was a pretty unsettling place to be. He had some issues and baggage that went down deep and far into the past, and he knew it. But he also knew that if he didn't want to find himself engulfed in another uncontrollable, frightening fit of resentment and fear and sadness and frustration, he was going to have to make space to do this, and at least try to sort through some of this crap and make his current reality into something resembling a normal life.

Brian used to know the answer to that question, unequivocally - he wanted money, power, success, for others to want what he had and to want him. That was what Brian Fucking Kinney wanted out of life. And he had it. All of it. But what did the "new" Brian Kinney want out of life? He honestly didn't know.

Money and power were still nice, and so was success. He'd always wanted to be the best at everything he did, and he felt he'd achieved that - by eventually becoming partner at his first job, then rising from the ashes by starting his own firm after getting fired, and even in how he'd conquered Liberty Avenue. Everyone wanted to be with Brian Kinney. Hell, many of them wanted to _be_ Brian Kinney. But not anymore. Would others still want what he had, or want him? Doubtful.

Brian knew that Rochelle saw him differently from how the rest of the world saw him the first minute he was in her office. When she told him to "have a seat," while gesturing to the three different seating options she had - an armchair, a futon, and a beanbag chair. Why the fuck was she telling him that? Couldn't she see he'd brought his own?

He'd given her a strange look and said, "Um, I brought my own. We're a package deal."

"Well, I don't relish the idea of standing up all day, every day," she said calmly. "And isn't that kind of what being in your wheelchair is like for you? Gets a little tiring and uncomfortable after awhile? Would you be more relaxed if you chose another seat?"

She wasn't wrong. He did like sitting other places, but he liked it because it made him feel normal. Like he wasn't sticking out like a sore thumb anymore. So he chose the futon.

But it wasn't just the fact that she'd invited him to take a seat elsewhere and get out of his wheelchair for awhile - it was the way she said it. Just a simple, casual "have a seat," no differently from what she would have said to anyone else. There had been no trepidation there, no hesitation, no awkwardness.

And she kept doing things like that. Little things that showed she was treating him as an equal, and even though he was there to work through issues concerning his disability, it wasn't a part of her primary perception of him as a person. She seemed to be seeing Brian Kinney, human being, rather than Brian Kinney, paraplegic. She saw him in a way that he wished he could see himself. How he wanted to see himself, but just didn't know how.

He'd confided in her that sometimes he wished he could be invisible - that one of the things he enjoyed about living in New York now was the relative anonymity compared to Pittsburgh. The way no one noticed him.

"Why do you want to be invisible?" she'd asked. "Why don't you want others to see you? What are you afraid they'll see?"

Fuck if that wasn't the most loaded question she ever could have asked, that had a very complicated answer.

He wanted to be invisible, because if people weren't seeing him, it meant they also weren't staring at him. He always felt where their eyes would go when people looked at him. He kept thinking about all of the times that Justin had assured him that people weren't staring at him, and that they weren't really judging him. That he was seeing it that way because he was judging himself. That he thought people saw him as a spectacle, because he saw himself as one. That he thought people back in Pittsburgh were comparing him to who he'd always been, because that's what he was doing himself. And how every time Justin said something like that, Brian hadn't responded, hadn't argued at all...because he knew Justin was right.

So that was his answer.

"I'm afraid they'll see what I see," he said.

"And what is that?"

"A ghost of who I used to be."

Brian recalled his first "outing" after the accident - when he'd been cut loose from rehab on a Saturday to spend an afternoon out in the real world. Michael came and picked him up, and he'd had a hell of a time getting in and out of the car, because he'd only done it a few times for practice, and he was by no means an expert at it then - not yet. He'd had to push Michael away several times as his friend tried to help him. But he eventually got it done, even as he was cursing how fucking difficult it seemed everything was now. Even simple things.

He'd tried to convince Michael to go to a restaurant on the other side of town - one where no one would know who he was. But Michael insisted on going to Liberty Diner, because he said his mother was working that day and she had told him that she'd have their heads - and probably their balls too, Michael added - if they even thought about going somewhere else. Brian had no doubt she'd follow through on her threat. And he realized it would kind of be nice to see her too. So he'd gone along with it, without much protest. He just hoped that the diner wouldn't be too busy, since it was the middle of the afternoon.

Of course, he hadn't accounted for the attention that Deb's enthusiastic greeting would garner. They weren't more than three feet inside the door before Debbie had passed up her own son completely and had Brian in the grips of one of her famous hugs. One that was so tight it was a bit painful, and he couldn't stop the involuntary sharp intake of breath that came as his back muscles tensed at the touch.

"Oh, I'm sorry honey, did I hurt you?" she said as she let go and gently brushed her hand over his cheek.

"I'm okay," he lied, not wanting to draw any more attention to his injury or this whole fucked up situation. He could already feel people's eyes on him, and he wanted to sink into the floor, never to be seen again. That was the first time he remembered wishing he could be invisible.

"I'm glad you're getting out and about, kiddo," Debbie said as she turned to retrieve a food order that had just come up in the window. "You boys find a table and I'll be right back."

He led Michael to the table farthest away from the door - essentially hiding in the corner as best he could.

He couldn't remember much of anything about what he or Michael had talked about while they were at the diner, because he was too distracted by watching everyone else watch him - their eyes falling on him, looking him up and down. The furtive glances they'd make in his direction. Looking away when he made eye contact with them. He felt incredibly exposed and vulnerable - two feelings that Brian Kinney didn't really know what to do with, and that he definitely wasn't comfortable with.

Only one other person had approached them - someone Brian thought he recognized from the back room at Babylon, but he wasn't quite sure. When you entertained dozens of tricks every month for years, they got a little hard to keep track of.

"Hey man," back room guy said. "I heard about what happened. I'm so sorry, that really sucks."

"Shit happens." Brian shrugged and hoped that the guy would be uncomfortable enough to leave soon, since he didn't really want to talk about it with anyone right then, much less a stranger. He got his wish.

"Well, it was good to see you, man," the guy said as he turned to leave, and Brian let out the breath he'd been holding.

Now, with the benefit of hindsight, Brian could see that this random guy he didn't even really know was the only person in the diner that day aside from Michael and Debbie who had treated him like a person, instead of an object or a curiosity. Even though, at the time, Brian hadn't wanted to interact with him at all. He'd wanted to disappear. He'd rather not be seen at all than be viewed as some sort of reasonable facsimile for the man that had once been the stud of Liberty Avenue.

He'd never been willing to allow anyone to see him as something other than perfect. Now, he had no choice.

"Don't you want to be seen for what you are? Strong, capable, and intelligent?" Rochelle had asked a couple of weeks later.

"Most people don't see those things in me anymore," Brian said bitterly.

"Why not? I see them." She tilted her head, and her eyes held a curious expression.

"You're different."

"I don't think I am. I'm just a person looking at another person." She tapped her pen idly against the arm of her chair.

"They don't see me anymore. They just see this," he said as he smacked his hands on his thighs.

"Do they? Or is that just all that you see now?"

Brian didn't want to answer that. And Rochelle didn't wait for him to respond; she probably already knew what he was thinking.

"Brian, your disability can only take over who you are if you let it," she said. "It's a part of your identity that can't be changed. It's always going to be a part of you. But you get to decide if it overshadows everything else. You need to take the other things that you are and own them. Make them bigger than your disability. Your wheelchair is a physical characteristic, like your hair color or your eye color. It doesn't tell the whole story about you. Neither does the fact that your legs don't work. You don't deserve to be overlooked or ignored, or treated like a lesser human being because of it. Stop telling yourself that you do. You have to figure out who you are, outside of your disability. And own that. Be that to the best of your ability. I want you to work on figuring out what that means to you."

That was a tall order, Brian thought as he sat at his desk in his home office and continued to mull over Rochelle's words to him. Who was he now? What made up his identity? What parts of the old Brian Kinney were still around, and what parts would probably never return again? What would it mean for him to own who he was now, and be the best version of himself? He honestly had no idea.

But even through all of the attempted self-discovery that had been occupying his thoughts over the past month, he still had a business to run. He had things he had to do. He was feeling a little better mentally and physically - he had more energy and less of a desire to stay in bed for large parts of the day, or to go to sleep right after dinner. He wasn't experiencing the wild mood swings that had plagued him for months. He felt like he could concentrate better, too.

He wished now that he hadn't been so entrenched in his own pity party back in rehab that he'd refused to engage much with Rebecca, the therapist who had first tried to help him cope with this. He certainly could have saved himself a lot of trouble and heartache. But he hadn't been ready at that point. Sometimes he still wasn't sure he was ready now, but he had to think about more than just himself - he had Justin to consider as well. And he was mostly doing this because he didn't want to screw things up with Justin again.

Brian hadn't realized how much his mental state had been affecting every aspect of his life. He thought he'd been concealing it fairly well, but now he was seeing such a difference in himself that he wondered why it hadn't been obvious for awhile that something wasn't right with him. Why no one had said anything or called him out on it. Not Michael, not Ted, not Cynthia, not even Deb. Justin was the only one, and he hadn't even seen it until it was painfully apparent, when Brian was crying and yelling on the living room floor, petrified because he couldn't get ahold of his emotions and didn't know what was happening, while at the same time trying desperately to mask that fear because it made him feel weak. Had they simply not wanted to see it? Had he conditioned them not to?

Justin especially should have seen it. They'd been living together for three weeks at that point. How could he not have noticed? Or had he, and just been too afraid to say anything?

Brian didn't have much time to entertain that thought, because he had an important networking event to attend tonight, and he needed to be on his game. He needed to look flawless and be in control, if he hoped to make connections with some influential people in his new city - people whose companies might make some of his largest accounts back in Pittsburgh look like small potatoes. This would also be his first time going to anything like this since his accident. That thought made him more apprehensive than he cared to admit.

He remembered how he always used to feel so at ease mingling with other business owners and potential clients, carefully massaging their egos and winning them over with his natural charm and charisma. But would he be able to produce the same magic now? There was only one way to find out.

The feeling of unease that now always preceded a new situation for Brian was starting to build in his gut as he went into the bathroom and started stripping off his clothes so he could take a shower. He tried not to focus too much on his legs, which had become noticeably thinner over the past several months as the muscles had gone unused, taking away from the physique he'd prided himself on for so many years back in Pittsburgh. Just another small thing that was gone, and probably wasn't coming back. It was the little things that built up and got to him sometimes - adding up to big feelings of inadequacy and insecurity. Exposing the weaker traits of his personality that had always been there, that he'd been able to hide from most of the world for so long, and had now become much more difficult to conceal. And those weaker traits weren't going to be of any help to him tonight, so he was going to have to figure out how to get past them - how to be seen again, and to let himself be seen.

Putting on one of his expensive designer suits always made him feel confident and put-together. He tried to psych himself up as he sat on the bed to dress himself after his shower, pulling his pants up one leg at a time, then lying down and rocking his body back and forth to slide them gradually up over his ass. This was the one task that never really seemed any easier than it had been the first time he'd tried it - it was annoying, at best, and took way too long.

When he was finished dressing and back in his chair, he looked himself up and down in the mirror and remembered Rochelle's words: "Don't you want to be seen for what you are? Strong, capable, and intelligent?" Staring at his own reflection, he tried to see those things that she saw in him - to look past his physical appearance to find the parts of the Brian Kinney he'd always known were still there, on some level. It was difficult though, because he still looked at his image and saw someone who was broken. The thoughts weren't as pervasive as they had been even a month ago, but they were still there. He felt like an imposter sometimes, with his many insecurities hiding behind a mask of self-assuredness that was precarious at best. Much more precarious than it ever had been before. Tonight, he was going to have to keep the mask on and make it convincing as ever.

An hour later, he found himself outside the ballroom of a swanky hotel in Midtown Manhattan, trying to calm the trembling of his hands as he entered the room. A room full of people that he would have felt totally at-ease and comfortable around a year ago. A room that now made him feel uneasy and not-good-enough. But he was going to do his best to push that aside and bring forth the Brian Kinney bravado, if only for one night.

He wanted a drink, badly, but gone were the days of casually mingling with a cocktail in hand. Now, if he wanted to carry a drink and be able to move around the room, he had to hold it between his thighs, which wasn't always the most dependable position since he couldn't feel them and they didn't always stay put. And spilling his drink on himself definitely would not make a good first impression. So, no alcohol tonight. Maybe that was for the best - otherwise, he might have been tempted to get plastered if things didn't go well.

It's now or never, Kinney, he told himself as he approached two men who appeared to be close to his own age. He waited for their conversation to pause as they noticed him, and held his hand out to shake.

"Brian Kinney," he said with as much confidence as he could muster over the nervousness that he still couldn't quite tamp down. The two men introduced themselves as well, and they all three talked about their respective businesses for a few minutes, asking questions and getting to know each other before scattering to mix and mingle with others.

That first encounter buoyed Brian's confidence - maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all. He still had it - the smoothness, the allure - he just had to be careful to not allow the apprehension lurking beneath the surface to bleed through.

His next interaction went fairly well also, and he was feeling good about what was happening here. He'd exchanged business cards with five people so far, and had some good leads.

The third introduction, however, didn't go quite so well. This woman owned a clothing boutique that catered to women in high-powered professional positions - and yet somehow she didn't seem too interested in the fact that he could help her expand her customer base and create an image that would make her store seem like the only choice if you wanted to be the best at what you did and look your best at the same time. Instead, she asked him right off the bat how he'd ended up in a wheelchair. Brian was taken aback by her rudeness, but then he remembered her potential deep pockets and the fact that he was here to make business contacts, not enemies. So he decided to answer the question and then try to bring the conversation back to more a comfortable topic.

"Car accident," he said. "So, I own an advertising firm, Kinnetik. Who's doing your marketing right now?"

"Really? How long ago?"

Brian gritted his teeth and tried again. "Ten months ago. Anyway, if you'd like to meet up sometime to discuss how we could use-" He didn't get to finish his sentence before she interrupted him.

"Well, it's impressive that you're still able to work. You know, owning your own business and all," she said.

"I really don't see how that's relevant."

"Why not? I think it's great. Very inspirational."

With that, Brian had heard enough and wasn't interested in talking to her any longer, much less doing business with her. Fuck being an inspiration. An inspiration for what? How to overcome what happens when you're an idiot and drive too fast in the rain?

"If you'll excuse me, I think I see someone I know over there," he said. "Nice meeting you." That was a lie, but he figured he would at least try to be polite, even if she had been incredibly rude. He was trying to make good first impressions here, and the last thing he needed was some woman walking around grousing about the asshole in the wheelchair.

Brian turned and headed quickly toward the opposite corner of the room, resisting the urge to look back at the woman to see her reaction. He hated to cut her off like that, but he really didn't want to answer questions about his fucking wheelchair tonight of all nights. Not to mention the fact that she'd shot him right back down to feeling like he couldn't be seen as anything other than Brian Kinney, paraplegic. Like the very act that he was still able to have a life was somehow awe-inspiring. He didn't want to be the hero cripple. Right now, he really wanted - needed - to be Brian Kinney, the best goddamn ad man you'll ever meet.

But the encounter had worked its way into his psyche, and he found himself struggling the rest of the night to introduce himself with the same confidence he'd had when he'd first entered the room. Most of the time, he was still able to muddle through. But he also found many people not wanting to look at him, avoiding eye contact, looking past him or over his head as they moved away quickly to shake the hand of someone else. Someone able-bodied.

No one else was outright rude, but so many of them weren't really seeing him either. He felt invisible. And for once, he didn't want to be. He wanted to be seen - needed to be seen. Seen as an equal. Not someone who was impaired or lesser-than. Sub-human. Someone that people couldn't even feel comfortable making eye contact with.

By the time Brian made it back to his and Justin's apartment, he was nursing a headache and really, really wanted to crawl in bed and shut out the world for a few hours. Justin was in the living room, watching television - one of those stupid animated things he claimed to appreciate for the artistic value.

"Hey," Justin greeted him, holding up the remote to switch off the TV. "How'd it go?"

"Trust me, you don't want to know," Brian said as he shed his suit jacket and threw it over a chair before heading into the kitchen. He grabbed a glass from the cabinet and reached for his trusty bottle of Jim Beam at the back of the counter. "I need a drink."

Justin, who apparently had followed him into the kitchen, grabbed the bottle before Brian did, and held it up, out of Brian's reach. "You agreed that we would talk about things that were bothering you now, remember?"

Brian was glaring at Justin now, aggravated not only by how his night had gone, but now the fact that Justin was taking advantage of their new height difference. Using his disability against him. Brian couldn't possibly do anything to reach the bottle when Justin held it up like that, and that only made him feel even more belittled than he had earlier in the evening. He had enough strangers treating him like a child; he didn't need Justin to do it too.

"Justin," he said, trying to keep his voice even, but failing to conceal his irritation. He reached up and grabbed at Justin's arm to try to pull it down. "Give it to me."

"Not until we've talked." Justin looked Brian straight in the eyes, his gaze steady. He was digging his heels in.

"Give. It. To. Me." Brian lowered his voice to a growl.

"Brian, you're not doing this again."

"I'm a goddamn adult, Justin! Now give me the fucking bottle and let me make my own motherfucking decisions!" Now he was yelling, and he could feel the hot tears of frustration starting to prickle at the corners of his eyes. Goddamn it.

Justin must have seen them too, because his hard expression suddenly softened. He set the bottle down and placed a hand on each of Brian's shoulders.

"Brian," he said softly. "Talk to me. Please. Tell me what's going on."

"I really don't want to talk about it." Brian shrugged Justin's hands off of him.

"Well, I don't want you to drink yourself into oblivion again either." Justin leaned against the counter and crossed his arms. "I can't read your mind. You have to talk to me."

"I'm pouring myself one drink. See the glass? I'm using a glass this time." Brian reached for the bottle again, opened it and poured an inch into the bottom of the tumbler. "Does that meet your approval?"

"I'm not trying to approve of anything. I'm trying to get you to let me in."

Brian sighed loudly. "I'm not shutting you out. I just need to relax first. Decompress a little. Then I'll tell you. I promise." He stuck the glass between his legs and went into the living room, where he put his drink on the end table before shifting his body over to the sofa.

Justin followed Brian into the living room and sat down next to him, curling his body into Brian's side, then leaning in to kiss him. "I love you," he said. "I'm sorry you had a crappy night."

"Not your fault. But I'm not ready to talk about it yet."

Justin switched the TV back on and Brian was grateful for the distraction, even if he did question Justin's taste sometimes. But who was he to judge? Justin was the artist. They sat and watched for awhile, Justin with his head laying on Brian's shoulder, one arm wrapped around Brian's back, and his hand rubbing lazy circles on the other shoulder.

As Brian downed the last of the whiskey in his glass, he finally felt ready to speak.

"People didn't want to see me tonight," he said as he laid the glass back down on the table and ran a finger absently over the rim. "Some did, but most of them didn't. They'd look right over me or right through me. Avert their eyes when I looked at them. And it wasn't just in my head. It was fucking happening. All of this time I've been thinking I wanted to be invisible, and tonight I was. And I fucking hated it. If people don't see me, I can't do my job."

Justin switched the TV off and tightened his arm around Brian's shoulders, but didn't say anything.

"I want people to see me," Brian said. "But only me. Not the goddamn wheelchair. Just me. But I don't know how to get them to just see me."

"You're more than the wheelchair Brian, and I think you know that, but you don't fully believe it yourself. And until you believe it 100%, you're never going to get people to just see you. They'll see what you see, because it's what you project. You have to demand their respect - teach them to look at you. Society teaches people not to stare, but they forget that also means they aren't making eye contact with the people they're trying not to stare at. They're pretending they don't exist. It's dehumanizing. And it's not right."

"I'm still trying to figure out who I am now though. What I want. I don't know if I can demand their respect until I know who I'm asking them to look at."

"When I look at you, I see someone who's smart and sexy. Successful. Talented. Loyal. Ambitious. Strong. The man I love. You're the same person you always have been. I know you don't believe that, but you are. What do you see?"

"Someone who's trying really hard to see themselves as worthy of that description. I'm trying, Sunshine. I really am."

"I know."

"It's hard."

"I know it is. I remember how scary it is to not know if you're ever going to feel like yourself again. But eventually I did, and you helped me get there. You will too. And I'll be here."

"So how do I teach them to look at me?"

"Show them what they're missing if they don't."

Brian was sitting on his bench in the shower, mulling that idea over in his head, when Justin opened the bathroom door to reveal himself standing naked in the doorway.

"Would you like some company?" he said.

They hadn't showered together since before Justin had left for New York almost two years before. Not since Brian was still standing on his own two feet. But there has to be a first time for everything, right? And part of Brian embracing his new identity was going to have to be letting go of fear. Fear of change. Fear of differences. Fear of new experiences. The new Brian Kinney wasn't afraid.

He was strong, loyal, ambitious, successful, talented, smart...and yes, still sexy. And he needed to get used to seeing himself in those terms - seeing himself through the same eyes as the man who loved him. Whose love he didn't feel he'd done anything to deserve.

Brian slid the glass shower door open and beckoned Justin in. Justin threw one leg over Brian's and immediately straddled him, pressing their hips together as he kissed Brian passionately, pressing his tongue into Brian's mouth, then sucking at Brian's bottom lip as he pulled away.

"This okay?" Justin asked. "I'm not hurting you?"

What Brian was feeling right now was definitely not pain. What he was feeling was Justin's cock pressing into the area of his hips where sensation faded off into nothing - a spot that Brian was quickly finding was extremely sensitive - and definitely in a positive, life-affirming way. It wasn't a place he'd explored much on his own, because he hated how close it was to the place that he really wanted to be able to feel again. So close and yet so far.

The only response he ended up giving Justin was a low moan, as he tipped his head back and closed his eyes.

"Mmmm...you like that?" Justin said as he wrapped his legs around Brian more tightly.

Brian nodded, and Justin leaned in to plant a trail of light kisses down the side of Brian's neck. Brian grabbed Justin's face and pulled it up to where their lips could make contact again, and they sat together in the shower, making out while Brian jerked Justin off and Justin kept rubbing his hands over Brian's hips. When they were finished, they soaped each other up, took turns rinsing each other off with the handheld part of the shower head, and continued kissing and groping at each other all the way to bed.

What did Brian want out of his life now? He still wanted to be successful. He still wanted money. He still wanted power. And he still wanted to feel like he was the best at everything he did. But in order to do that, he had to be noticed - to be seen. And not just seen as a disabled person, but as a capable, intelligent person who just happened to use a wheelchair. That was the Brian Kinney he needed to put out into the world.

Did he still need for everyone to want him or want to be him - to seek validation from others to make up for the insecurities he would never admit to? Not so much. Not anymore.

Tonight, he felt worthy. Loved. Strong. Like maybe he would be able to make it. Maybe he'd find his purpose after all.


	11. Revolution

" _You know, whoever our guy is, he doesn't have to be your standard superhero steroid case."_

" _It's his mind that makes him sexy."_

" _It's his fierce individualism-"_

" _-that gives him courage."_

" _His uncompromising moral code-"_

" _-that makes him strong!"_

"I need you to take a picture of me," Brian said as he breezed by the table where Justin sat eating his breakfast one Tuesday morning in mid-May.

"Um, okay…" Justin said around his mouthful of cereal, swallowing before he continued. "What for?"

"I have an idea," Brian said as he poured himself a cup of coffee. "I want to make something. Something to help people see me."

"Well, I think a picture will definitely do that." Justin was still totally lost. What was Brian planning to do with this picture?

"We can't do it here though." Brian poured an inordinately large amount of sugar into the cup, as always, and stirred. "Needs to be outside."

"Okay...do you mind telling me what's going on?"

"I'm not even sure it's going to work." Brian shifted the mug from one hand to the other so he could make his way over to the table one wheel at a time. Justin knew Brian couldn't carry a hot drink in his usual way because he wouldn't know if he burned himself. "I was thinking I wanted to start a public service campaign. Something about visibility. Seeing people with disabilities as people. Looking at us instead of past us. Seeing instead of staring. Generally not being ableist assholes."

"I think that sounds like a great idea."

"I just feel like I need to do something, you know? Make a contribution to the world other than having fucked my way through most of gay Pittsburgh."

Justin laughed. "And quite the contribution that was. Brian Kinney, the man, the legend."

"Shame I can't do the same here."

"Depends on your perspective." Justin tipped his cereal bowl up to his lips to drink what was left of the milk.

"You know, Ben called me the biggest whore in Pittsburgh once. When he tried to stuff me in a locker at the gym after I caught him buying steroids. I think I still have a scar from that. Part of my collection now, I guess."

"I like your scars. They mean something," Justin said as he got up and went into the kitchen to rinse out the bowl and pour his own cup of coffee.

Brian snorted. "What do they mean? That I'm not perfect anymore? That Brian Kinney got knocked down a peg?"

"No, that you're a survivor. That you made it through."

"That's debatable."

"No, it's not. You're still here, aren't you?"

"Anyway, are you busy today? I want to get started on this. You can help me with the graphics if you want. I'll pay you."

"You're not paying me." Justin took his seat at the table again, mug in-hand. "I'm free until 11. Then I have to go to work at the restaurant."

"I wish you'd quit that stupid job, so you could focus on your painting. I can support us both."

"I don't want you to have to support me."

"I'm not obligated. I'm volunteering. Or there's always that position at Kinnetik I offered you. It's still open."

"I'm not accepting your charity."

"It's not charity. Christ, Justin. You're good. Have you seen what my art department produces most of the time? You'd take over the place in a week."

"Part of coming to New York was me standing on my own two feet, remember? Not depending on you."

"Well, you're living with me."

"And I wanted to pay rent, but you wouldn't let me."

"Because partners don't pay rent. You're not my fucking roommate."

"Partners share expenses."

"Fine, what do you want to pay for?"

"Something, anything, but you won't let me near your mail to try to find a bill I can pay."

"Then I guess we're at an impasse." Brian raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, one created by one Brian Kinney himself."

"I'm good at that. Anyhow, you don't need to pay any bills. We're good. You can pay me in sexual favors."

Justin rolled his eyes. "I'm not quitting my restaurant job."

"Fine. Whatever. Suit yourself. If you want to keep wasting your time waiting tables when you could be revolutionizing the art world, that's your prerogative."

"I doubt I'd be revolutionizing the art world."

"You never know. Aren't you always telling me not to sell myself short?"

"This is totally different."

"I don't think so, but okay. Anyway, if you change your mind, you can come work for me. Waste your time making ads for pills and sunglasses instead of serving club sandwiches and caesar salads."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"You do that." Brian put his coffee mug down on the table and went into the kitchen, opened the fridge to pull out two eggs and a small container of peppers and onions that Justin had seen him chopping on Sunday afternoon.

"I still can't get over seeing you cook. Cutting up vegetables."

"Well, there's no Liberty Diner here. Sometimes a man's got to learn to be self-sufficient." Brian leaned down to pull a skillet from the cabinet next to the stove.

Justin got up from the table and leaned on the kitchen island a few steps away, sipping his coffee. "Is that the companion story to a man needing to know when to ask for help?"

"I can make my own omelet, Justin." Brian poured a bit of olive oil into the skillet on the stove and turned on the burner, then grabbed a bowl and cracked the eggs into it.

"I know. It's just weird. Brian Kinney...cooking."

"I already told you - I figured if I wasn't out drinking, drugging, and fucking, I should take up cooking. I'm not great at it, but I can feed myself. Besides, you've been living here with me for how many months now?"

"Three."

"And you've seen me cook this how many times now? Dozens? And I haven't died from food poisoning yet. Sometimes things change. People change. We get older and we change."

Justin and Brian had definitely been through some changes in their time together. Justin had gone from stalker to sort-of boyfriend, to long distance lover, to ex-boyfriend, to almost-husband, to lonely artist, to partner, all in the span of the past six-and-a-half years. And he wouldn't trade any of it for the world. He'd also seen Brian go from not believing in love, to letting other people refer to Justin as his boyfriend without protest, to actually missing Justin when he was gone, to finally admitting that he loved Justin, to asking Justin to marry him, to letting him go to New York - alone - as the ultimate sacrifice, as a way to show his love. If someone had told Justin when he first made eye contact with Brian under that street lamp on Liberty Avenue, what the rest of their story would entail, he would never have believed them. Hell, there were lots of points mid-story that he wouldn't have believed how things would ultimately turn out. That a rainy Wednesday last June would change Brian's life forever. That they'd end up here, right now, together in New York. And he still wouldn't trade any of it.

When Brian had finished cooking and eating his breakfast, and Justin had finished his coffee, they got dressed and headed out to a small park not far from their apartment. Brian had the fancy digital camera he sometimes used when he needed a photo for an ad on short notice and didn't have time to book a real photographer. Justin didn't consider himself much of a photographer either, but he did have the advantage of an artist's eye, so he was willing to give it a try.

"Okay, so, it needs to look natural," Brian said. "This spot over here looks good for lighting. Good thing it's cloudy, there's less shadows that way."

Brian was looking seriously fucking sexy, Justin thought, in his jeans and boots and his black leather jacket over a red button-up shirt that was half-unbuttoned to reveal a black t-shirt underneath. He made his way to an open area and told Justin to take a few shots of him sitting alone. He was looking at the camera in a way that made Justin want to jump him right there in the park, but he resisted. Sex in public places was probably off the table, at least for now, and Justin didn't really want to get arrested today, either. He was wondering how an alluring photograph of his boyfriend was going to play into a campaign for equality, but he wasn't going to complain - he was definitely enjoying the show.

After Justin had taken a dozen or so sultry shots of Brian in the park, Brian wanted to go a couple of blocks away to the front door of a restaurant they'd both wanted to try a few weeks before, but couldn't get into because the entrance had three steps. Brian posed himself by the steps, instructing Justin to make sure that the lighted "open" sign by the door was also in the shot.

When Brian seemed satisfied that he had enough to get started on whatever he was planning, they headed back home, where Justin left Brian in the office, staring at his computer screen, so deep in thought that he barely seemed to notice Justin telling him he'd be back later tonight. Justin hated these nine-hour shifts at the restaurant, but he really needed to feel like he wasn't depending on Brian to provide for him, even though Brian wasn't letting him pay for anything - not even groceries. So at the moment, all of his money that wasn't going for art supplies was being put into a savings account. He didn't know what he was saving for, but it was there if he needed it.

The entire time he was working, his mind was anywhere but the dining room of the cafe - he was thinking about the new issue of "Rage" that he and Michael had started working on a couple of weeks before. Since their superhero had always been based on Brian, Michael had come up with the idea to work the twist in Brian's own story into the Rage character as well, in a slightly different way. Justin was supposed to be finishing the art this week, but that was difficult since workaholic Brian was almost constantly in their shared office/studio, and Justin's computer screen was clearly visible from Brian's desk. He needed to figure out some reason to rearrange the room to turn his computer screen toward the wall without making Brian wonder what he was working on, since he and Michael wanted it to be a surprise.

Justin wasn't sure how Brian was going to feel about it, but Michael had promised that final approval would go to Brian, and if he wasn't comfortable with it, it wouldn't be published. Neither of them wanted a repeat of what had happened when Rage and J.T. got married and they'd blindsided Brian with it. Although Justin had to admit, looking back now, that had been a very passive-aggressive way of dealing with his and Brian's contradictory ideas about what the next step in their relationship should be. Even though this situation was different, it was still deeply personal, and it belonged to Brian and no one else. He should have the final say.

Brian was sitting at the dining room table, eating a salad, when Justin arrived home, exhausted and smelling like garlic and onions. This place might have been slightly higher class than the Liberty Diner, but he sure didn't come home smelling any better. He always felt like the smell permeated him - his clothes, his skin, his hair - and the first place he usually wanted to go after coming home was the shower.

"Hey," Brian greeted him, coming out from behind the table to give Justin a kiss. He tasted vaguely of balsamic vinaigrette. "Missed you today."

"Missed you too. How's your project coming along?" Justin followed Brian back over to the table and started kneading Brian's shoulders, which seemed to be perpetually knotted up now, thanks to either stress or overuse...probably both.

"Pretty good." Brian leaned into Justin's touch. "I like it so far. I want to get a couple more people involved in it, if I can find anyone willing. So that way it's not just me. Rochelle told me about a couple of different disability support groups around town, so I think I might go to one tomorrow. See if I can find a couple of other people who are willing to not sit quietly and be overlooked. Who want to help me shake things up a little."

"You're so sexy when you start turning all revolutionary." Justin bent down and wrapped his arms around Brian from behind.

"Oh yeah?"

"Definitely."

"You smell like garlic," Brian said as he tilted his head up to look at Justin and grinned.

"Yeah, I know. I should take a shower." Justin gave Brian a quick peck on the cheek, then turned and went into the bedroom, stripping off his clothes as he walked. The warm water from the shower felt good on his skin as it cascaded down onto his back and shoulders, washing away the day - the smells and the stress. Maybe Brian was right and he should quit the restaurant job. But he really didn't want to feel like he was making Brian take care of him.

Once he felt like the scent of Brian's fancy French soap had sufficiently taken away the scent of the cafe, Justin turned off the water, dried off, and went into the bedroom to change into his sweats. He was ready to find some mindless television to watch and spend some quality time with Brian on the sofa, making out and messing around. One thing Justin really liked about this new version of his partner was that Brian seemed to enjoy that too - just being together. Cuddling, even, if Justin dared call it that. Justin had never been much into tricking - he'd mostly done it because it seemed like Brian expected him to do it. And he would occasionally do it just to piss Brian off when he was mad at Brian over something stupid. But now that Brian wasn't doing it, Justin didn't feel pressured to do it either. He'd much rather spend a quiet evening at home with his partner than go to the club and get sucked off by some anonymous trick. He'd always felt that way. And now it seemed Brian was okay with that too.

When Justin came out of the bathroom, he was greeted by Brian, lying on his side in their bed like he was posing for a nude portrait, clearly having taken one of his little blue pills. Apparently Brian had other plans for the evening, and Justin certainly wasn't going to argue, even if he was tired. Brian initiating sex wasn't anywhere near as frequent as it used to be, and that made Justin wonder what was going on tonight and why Brian was doing this. But he wasn't going to ask. He was just going to relax and enjoy the moment.

Justin climbed into bed next to Brian and gently rolled him over onto his back as he brought himself up to straddle his lover's body. He worked his way through the repertoire he'd built of above-the-waist licking and nipping and rubbing and caressing that Brian seemed to enjoy, while Brian worked on pleasuring and preparing him. They were both breathing hard, and Justin knew he wasn't going to last much longer, so he grabbed a condom off the nightstand and used one hand to put it on Brian, while running the other hand lightly over Brian's hips, making him gasp. It still felt strange to Justin - to essentially bottom from the top - as he rode Brian and worked his lover over with his hands as they went, but it still felt amazing to have Brian inside him. He wondered what Brian felt now when they did this. If he was experiencing the same feeling of ecstasy in his mind that Justin was. How much of that was physical, and how much of it was mental?

But he didn't have much time to entertain those thoughts before his own orgasm overwhelmed his mind and body, and he came crashing down on top of Brian. Brian wrapped his arms around Justin and kissed him, before letting Justin slide off his body and come to rest beside him on the sheets.

Justin got rid of the condom, and they laid in each other's arms for a while, as Justin's breathing slowed to normal. He rolled over and rubbed a hand over Brian's chest, pausing when he realized that Brian was still breathing heavy and deep, and he could feel the man's heart pounding in his chest.

"You okay?" Justin asked as he propped himself up on his elbow so he could more easily see Brian's face. Brian's cheeks were flushed. Justin was certain that his worry was written all over his own face, and he could feel his brow furrowing.

"I will be," Brian said softly. "This happens sometimes. It's not usually this bad. But I had a lot of coffee today. I guess caffeine and hard-on pills don't mix."

"Brian-"

"I'm okay. I promise."

"Are you sure? Maybe we should go to the hos-"

"No," Brian cut him off, his voice suddenly louder and stronger. "I'll be fine. I just need some time."

Justin relented, although he was still deeply concerned and hoping that Brian wasn't having a heart attack. Brian was digging his metaphorical heels in, though, and arguing would only result in him pushing Justin away. Justin tried to relax and settle back in, and wait. His hand was still resting on his lover's chest, trying to be subtle as he felt for any changes in rhythm that might indicate Brian was downplaying what was happening right now.

It took another five minutes that felt like forever for Brian's heart rate to calm, but it eventually did, much to Justin's relief.

"We've got to find another way," Justin said. "I'm not going to let you do this to yourself for my sake."

Brian shrugged and turned over so that he was looking Justin in the eyes. "It's okay. It's just a side effect of the drugs. It goes away."

"Well, it scared the fuck out of me tonight."

"I told you I was fine. And I am."

"Well, I still don't want you doing this to yourself on my behalf. Because you feel like you have to or something."

"I don't feel like I have to." Brian reached out and touched Justin's cheek. "I want to."

"But why? What are you getting out of it?"

"I'm with you. I'm making you happy. And I still do think about sex, you know. It feels good to me, even if I can't feel anything down there. It's different, but it still feels good. My brain still likes being with you. I still want you. I wanted to fuck you tonight."

"I hope you don't feel like I'm pushing you to do things. I'm sorry if I am."

"I like it when you push me."

"What?"

"Don't apologize for pushing me," Brian said, his gaze serious as his hazel eyes bore straight into Justin's baby blues. "I'm here because you pushed me. If it wasn't for you, I'd still be sitting alone in my apartment in Pittsburgh, feeling sorry for myself, just trying to get through the day. Because of you pushing me, I'm here, in New York, building a new life for myself, with someone I love."

In that moment, Justin didn't have any words for Brian - he didn't know what to say. He wanted to cry, but he didn't know what the tears would be - tears of joy because he was so happy to be here with Brian, or tears of pride for how far Brian had come, or tears of sadness for the loneliness and despair Brian must have endured before they were reunited.

So he settled for, "I love you too," and pressed his lips against Brian's in a drawn-out, tender kiss.

The next morning, Brian was awake before Justin, and was already in the office working on something when Justin emerged from the bedroom. Justin wondered when he was ever going to get a chance to finish his drawings for "Rage" - he was on a deadline and quickly running out of time. And this deadline was tighter than normal, because their publisher was still going to expect an new issue, even if Brian vetoed this one, so he and Michael had to leave themselves time to start over from scratch if need be.

He poured himself a cup of coffee in the kitchen before joining Brian in the office, pausing to look over Brian's shoulder at the monitor. On it, was one of the images they'd taken the day before - the one from outside the restaurant - with the words, "Open to some. Not to all." A powerful statement, that was painfully true. Prior to the last several months, Justin had never given much thought to whether or not buildings and businesses could be accessed by everyone, and not just people who were able-bodied. Now that he was more cognizant of it, he found himself being incensed on more than one occasion when Brian couldn't join him somewhere, or when they would have to pass up doing something entirely because there was no way for Brian to get in. And Brian was much more able than many others in the disability community, because he could jump a curb or a single step safely and relatively easily, which wasn't an option for everyone. Justin couldn't imagine the frustration of being someone in a power wheelchair who just wanted to get a cup of coffee and a scone like any other average Joe, but couldn't even get in the door.

"What do you think?" Brian asked, turning his head up to look at Justin standing beside him.

"Very thought-provoking."

"Thanks," he said as he clicked the mouse to bring up a different image. This one was one of the photos from the park, featuring dead-sexy Brian and his sultry stare, and the text across the top said, "See me. Look me in the eye." At the bottom, were the words, "See a person, not a disability."

"I love it," Justin said. "Now everyone will see how sexy my boyfriend is."

Brian smiled and rolled his eyes. "That's not the point."

"I know it's not." Justin bent down and kissed Brian. "So what are you going to do with these?"

"I'm not sure yet," Brian sighed. "I want them to be out where a lot of people will see them. I can't be the one footing the bill myself though. I've already learned that lesson the hard way. I'm thinking I'll see if one of my clients might be interested in putting their name on them - creating some goodwill in the disability community for themselves. I still want to see if I can get someone else to pose for some pictures, too, so it's not just me. I feel weird about being in my own ads."

"Well, I think they're perfect." He kissed Brian again. "You're perfect. So are you going to the support group today?" Justin had his fingers crossed that Brian would say yes, so he would get at least a couple of hours to himself to work on "Rage" today.

"Yeah, there's a lunch meeting uptown I was going to go to. I just hope it's not going to be a bunch of sad sacks sitting around feeling sorry for themselves. That won't work for me at all."

"I seem to recall you used to be one of those sad sacks." Justin laid a hand on Brian's shoulder and squeezed it.

"I know." Brian pulled his lips into his mouth the way he had always done when he was feeling shy or nervous. "But I need someone else who's ready to take on the world."

Those words were music to Justin's ears - that Brian felt ready to take on the world. He was extremely proud of how far Brian had come in the last couple of months. He'd not only agreed to talk to someone, so he could get out of the psychological mire he'd been stuck in since the accident, but he also seemed to have dived in headfirst, channelling the Brian Kinney who was always fully invested in everything he did. Part of the old Brian Kinney, coming to life in the new one. He wasn't crying in the shower anymore or stealing away to be alone so Justin wouldn't see him in an emotional moment when everything finally got to him. Brian had even started using the gym in their apartment building and was lifting weights again, working on his upper body and core strength, and doing better with remembering to do the passive stretches he was supposed to do to maintain flexibility in his lower body. And with Rochelle's help and direction, he was finding a purpose in his life - something he could do to feel like he was contributing to society. Like his life meant something. Like he was still here for a reason. He seemed happier now, more at peace. They were happy.

While Brian was gone to the support group meeting, Justin took advantage of having some time alone in their office to work on the comic book. He really liked the story Michael had come up with, and he hoped Brian would as well. It was a story of overcoming adversity when the odds are stacked against you. Michael and Justin wanted to use Brian's comic book alter-ego to honor their friend and partner's strength and resilience.

Justin was nearly finished with the last page of the comic when he heard the door to the apartment open. He quickly saved his work and minimized the window before going out to the living room to greet Brian with a kiss.

"Hey," he said. "How was the support group? Find any other revolutionaries?"

"It actually wasn't half bad," Brian said as he wheeled into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. "An interesting group of people with some powerful stories. And I did find someone else who wanted in with me on this project. Her name's Alison. She had a few minutes after the meeting so we shot a few photos that I think I can do something with."

"That's great. I'm glad it wasn't as bad as you thought it would be."

"Me too." Brian twisted the lid off the bottle and took a sip. "Turns out being in a room full of other people who get where you're coming from and understand your frustrations is kind of nice."

Justin agreed. It was nice. And it was one of the reasons he wished that Brian was more willing to talk about the bashing - he truly did understand a lot of where Brian was coming from most of the time, even if Brian didn't think their two situations compared. And Justin felt it might do them both some good to talk about the bashing more openly, although he'd long ago resigned himself to that not being likely to happen. The demons Brian had from the bashing were still off limits, even now. In any case, he was glad that Brian had found some people he could talk to and felt comfortable with. He had his group of friends in Pittsburgh, but here in New York, he really only associated with Justin, unless he was having a business meeting or going to an appointment.

Again, Justin had to put "Rage" on hold while Brian worked in the office. After an hour or so, he called Justin over to see an image of a young woman about the same age as he was, who was a triple amputee. She was leaning against a building, prosthetics on both legs and one arm, and the text on her photo said, "Don't assume I need help. Ask me. Let me decide."

"She's an Army vet," Brian said. "Fucking 20 years old when this shit happened to her. And people treat her like how they've treated me for the last year."

"Well, it sounds like you two might have something in common, then."

"Yeah, maybe," Brian said as he saved his work and closed the program. "I'm going down to the gym. Want to join me?"

Justin did want to join him, but he also really needed to finish the last page of the comic, so he chose to stay upstairs and work. The phone rang just as he was putting on the finishing touches. It was Michael - perfect timing.

"Hey," Justin answered. "I've almost got those pages ready to send to you."

"Awesome," Michael said. "I can't wait to see it. Anyway, that's not really why I called. You guys will be in town over Brian's birthday, right?"

"Yes…" Justin had a feeling he knew where Michael was going with this, and that it probably wouldn't be a good idea.

"I was thinking I'd like to throw him a surprise party."

"You know he'll fucking kill you, right? Murder you right there on the spot, in front of everyone. And then murder me for knowing about it, and kick me out of the apartment, and I'll be homeless. Do you want me to be homeless?"

"How can you be homeless if you're dead?"

"Fine - if he doesn't kill me, he'll kick me out, and then I'll be homeless." Justin leaned back in his desk chair and looked out the window toward the downtown Manhattan skyline.

"So I won't tell him you knew about it. You can act surprised too."

"I still don't think it's a good idea. You know how he feels about birthdays anyhow, that they're silly and sentimental and not worth celebrating."

"I also know that Brian says a lot of things that he wants you to think he feels, but that he really doesn't."

"I'm not sure that's the case with this, but even if it was...you know what happened on his 30th birthday. He hasn't even so much as mentioned his birthday to me one time since then. I think he just wants to pretend it doesn't exist anymore."

"Well, he almost didn't live to be 36, so I'd like to celebrate. And I know he's not the same person he used to be, so I figured maybe he might like it a little bit too. Or at least to see everyone and eat some cake and have a drink."

"I wouldn't count on it. I'm not sure that particular part of him has changed much. He believes in celebrating achievements, not just being born."

"Then he can choose to view it as celebrating his achievement of still being here, still kicking ass, whatever. I'm doing it anyway, no matter what you say. I only asked because I wanted to make sure you were going to be here. And you'd better not change your plans now."

"I couldn't even if I tried. He's got meetings all day at Kinnetik that start at 9:00 next morning so we will definitely be there on his birthday. We're staying in town for a week."

"Okay. Do you think you can get him to go to Ma's house on Sunday night? We'll say it's just a regular family dinner."

"He knows when his birthday is, Michael, even if he never mentions it. You don't think he might suspect?"

"You'll just have to assure him that it's not a party then, just an occasion to get together and eat baked rigatoni and garlic bread and drink too much wine."

"I'm telling you, he's going to be so pissed at you when he figures it out. Do you really want your mother to witness your best friend murdering you in her living room?" Justin laughed.

"That's the chance I'll have to take. Anyway, he can't stay mad at me for long. He never does."

"Alright, it's on you then. I'll get him there, but I didn't know anything about this."

"My lips are sealed," Michael said.

"I'll send these over to you in a few minutes."

"Looking forward to it." Michael sighed on the other end of the line. "Well, I'd better head home. It's closing time."

"Okay, I'll see you in a couple of weeks. Hopefully not for the last time," Justin chuckled.

"Nah, I'm not scared of him." Michael was laughing too. "See ya."

"See ya."

Michael was right - Brian definitely wasn't the same person he had been a year ago. He wasn't the person Justin had known for the better part of five years and nearly married. If anything, he was a better version of himself now. He'd taken something that had ended his life as he knew it and thrown him into a totally different one, and now he was using that new life to do something substantial. Something great.

And Justin couldn't have been prouder to call him his partner, his lover, and most of all, his friend.


	12. Acceptance

" _No excuses, no apologies, no regrets."_

"You do realize we're only going for a week, right?" Justin called from outside the closet, where Brian was retrieving more suits and ties for their trip to Pittsburgh. "Do you really need all of these clothes?"

"I need work clothes, club clothes, and comfortable clothes." Brian felt that was reasonable - after all, you can't wear work clothes to the club and vice-versa, and when you're relaxing at the hotel, you want to be comfortable.

"Did you just say club clothes?"

"Yes."

"Okay, who the fuck are you and what did you do with the Brian Kinney I've been living with for the past four months? You haven't been to a club since I dragged you to Babylon and tried to make you dance with me."

"And tried to fuck me in the VIP lounge." Brian came out the closet door with a lap full of shirts and jackets and pants that he knew probably wouldn't fit in his luggage.

"Yeah, don't remind me," Justin said, rolling his eyes. "I fucked up big time that night."

"Hey, it worked out in the end."

"If you say so," Justin said as he folded a pair of jeans.

"I ended up here, didn't I?"

"True. And I'm glad you did."

"Me too." Brian looked up at Justin and smiled. He was glad he'd decided to take the plunge and move to New York. Even though things hadn't started off as easy as he'd hoped they would be, this new place had brought with it a lot of positive change for Brian. He finally felt like he was seeing the light at the end of a very long and dark tunnel. Now, he just had to make it through this trip back to the Pitts.

Pittsburgh was where he was when he'd been at his lowest. And he needed to not let that goddamn town and the people in it drag him back down again. It wasn't his family - his chosen family, that is - that he was worried about. It was the other people who had once made him feel like he'd rather be invisible than exist in the world as a disabled man. A man who'd been shaken to his very core. Pushed out of the persona he'd become infamous for. Ripped away from the life he'd known and become comfortable with, and tossed haphazardly into a completely foreign situation that had turned his entire world on its ear. And just a few months ago, he hadn't been sure how he'd make it through - if he'd make it through.

But he had. And he'd realized that he didn't really want to be invisible at all. He just wanted for people to see him for the man that he was, outside of his disability. To not expect him to still be the same old Brian Fucking Kinney. And most of all, to not pity him because he wasn't that person anymore.

Getting there had been a rough road for sure, paved with a lot of emotional upheaval and self-doubt. But he'd gotten there, with Justin's encouragement.

Brian honestly had no idea where he would be right now if it weren't for Justin. If they hadn't reconnected last Christmas Eve at Debbie's house. If he'd never told Justin what happened to him and had gone on pretending that everything was fine, forever. Would he have been able to keep pretending?

They took a cab to the airport, checked two large suitcases at the ticket counter - still way too many clothes for a week, Justin said - and proceeded on to the fucking fun and games that was airport security. Since he and Justin were traveling together this time, Justin got to bear witness to the full-on feel-up and pat-down that happened in a small cubicle off to the side of the metal detectors, where a strange man groped Brian in places that would have been considered seductive if this was Babylon instead of the airport. They inspected every inch of Brian's wheelchair, swabbing his hands and random spots on his chair for explosives residue. Like terrorists were making some kind of a habit of hiring people in wheelchairs to do their dirty work, Brian thought to himself.

By the time they made it through security and to the gate, their flight was about to begin boarding. As always, Brian got to board first, and again Justin got to come with him. He'd learned from his past mistakes and booked a seat in the first row, where he would be able to get on the plane in his own wheelchair instead of having to deal with the embarrassing aisle chair. He barely had enough space to do that, but he'd be damned if he was going to deal with the indignity of someone else pushing him if he could avoid it. Justin knew to keep his hands to himself when Brian struggled a bit with the weird angle of the transfer, but the flight attendant didn't know any better. It still bugged the everloving shit out of Brian when someone tried to help him without asking him if he needed help, but he was trying to not be outwardly rude, so he settled for saying, "I've got it, thanks." And she backed off too.

He'd decided to sit on his wheelchair seat cushion this time, to see if that might help his back pain, so once he got into his seat, he had to immediately slide over into Justin's, remove the cushion from his wheelchair, situate it in his own seat, and then slide back. Once he'd gotten everything secured on his chair, an airline employee tagged it and took it off to be gate checked. Even on flight number three, he still felt nervous about letting his chair out of his sight. It was a fundamental part of him now. He depended on it, and he felt more okay with that now than he ever thought he would. Because it was really just an accessory. It had played a role in turning him into a different person, but it wasn't the end-all, be-all of his identity anymore, like he'd allowed it to be for so long. Too long.

After Brian was settled in his seat, Justin hoisted the carry-on bag they'd brought up into the overhead compartment and climbed over Brian's legs to get to his own seat.

"Don't step on me, asshole," Brian said jokingly.

"How the hell are you going to know if I did?"

"Fuck if I know. Just don't do it."

"I didn't. I promise. So did you find us someplace fancy to stay downtown?"

"Sure did. Booked a rental car too." Brian leaned his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes. "You'll have to do all the driving though."

"I'm sure you're thrilled about that."

"You'd better not get us killed."

"Hey, I'm a good driver. You're just biased."

"Can I get you anything to drink, gentlemen?" the flight attendant interrupted them.

"Apple juice," Justin said.

"Jack and coke," Brian told the flight attendant. She turned and walked to the galley as Brian looked at Justin with a raised eyebrow. "Apple juice? What are you, five?"

"What is this, pick on Justin day?"

Brian closed his eyes again. "Sorry. I'm really fucking nervous about this trip."

"Why? What is there to be nervous about?"

"The last time I was in Pittsburgh, things weren't good for me."

"I know." Justin slipped his fingers through Brian's and squeezed his hand. "But you're okay now. You've dealt with all of that. You'll be okay."

"I just don't want it to come back. The ghosts are there, you know. All of them."

"I know. But they don't have power over you anymore. You're stronger than they are. You're going to be fine. I promise."

Brian sighed and hoped that Justin was right. That he'd be able to deal with whatever ghosts from his past came back to haunt him on this trip.

It was a short flight, and Brian spent most of it on his laptop, working on some last minute things for one of the clients he was going to be meeting with at Kinnetik while he was back in Pittsburgh. He was impressed with how well Cynthia and Ted had been holding down the fort in his absence - he hadn't had to come back to bail them out of any emergencies at all. His company seemed to be a well-oiled machine, even when he wasn't there in person. He tried to feel proud of that, and to not feel slighted or like he wasn't needed.

When they landed in Pittsburgh, they had to wait for everyone else to slowly make their way off the plane, before one of the gate agents brought Brian his chair and he got to do the oddly angled transfer in reverse. The flight attendant stood back this time, but Brian could see that Justin was watching him attentively and was ready to step in if needed, to avoid any potentially embarrassing situations. Brian wasn't quite sure how that made him feel. Thankfully, no such situations arose and not long after that, they had picked up their luggage at baggage claim and were on their way to pick up the rental car.

They drove to the hotel and checked in, dropping off all of their things. Justin said he needed to make a phone call, so Brian headed down the street alone to grab some food from a nearby deli. Brian hadn't even thought of the fact that this was Wednesday evening, and that the hotel was near the cathedral where his mother sometimes attended mass, until he heard someone call his name from behind him on the sidewalk.

"Brian?" the voice called. He recognized it immediately as belonging to his fucking joke of a mother, whose last contact with him had been to shout at him about how he was paying his penance now for the life of sin he'd lived, while he sat in a hospital bed, in pain and wondering what the hell was next for him. He certainly hadn't needed her to come and show her so-called love in the twisted way in which she always did it - trying to force him to change to save his soul, and probably hers too, at least in her mind.

He whipped around in the direction of the voice and found himself face to face with Joan.

"What, you don't even recognize your own son now?" Brian said sarcastically. "Is the chair too much for you?"

"Of course I recognize you, Brian." She still wouldn't quite meet his eyes, as was typical for her any time they were having a conversation. She could never look him in the eye. He often wondered why. What she was afraid she'd see there. Or what she was afraid he'd see in her. "How are you doing?" she asked.

"Do you care?"

"Would I have asked if I didn't?"

"I don't know, I guess I thought maybe it was in some handbook on mothering that you forgot to read when I was a kid, and you decided you'd catch up now."

"Brian-"

"I'm fine, mother. Fabulous. The most fabulous fag in Pittsburgh. That is, if it's possible to be fabulous in Pittsburgh." It had been a long time since he'd said those words, but they made him smile to himself here, so it seemed like the right time to bring them back.

"I heard you moved to New York."

"How did you hear that? Let me guess, Debbie."

"Yes, I ran into her in church."

"Is that all you two do is talk about me?"

"Well, I shouldn't have to depend on someone else to keep me updated on what's going on with my own son." Joan looked down her nose disapprovingly, like she was trying to intimidate Brian. It wasn't going to work, in spite of their obvious height difference now. He hadn't been intimidated by her in a long time - not since he was a kid. And he wasn't going to start again now. He sat up straighter and stared her down.

"If you wanted me to keep you updated, maybe you should have acted like you gave a shit about me, instead of constantly telling me how your God is punishing me for engaging in the terrible sin of homosexuality. We both know you don't care about me - all you care about is making yourself look good in church. Oh, St. Joan has a gay son? Well, that just won't do!" He could hear the anger starting to creep into his voice now, but he didn't really care. She deserved whatever he could throw at her. He'd been too quiet the last time they'd "talked."

"Of course I care about you, Brian. You're my son. I love you." Those last three words sounded like she had to choke them out. And she still couldn't fucking look him in the eye.

"You've sure got a strange way of showing it."

"Why don't we go get a cup of coffee and talk?" She gestured toward the coffee shop across the street.

"I have nothing to say to you."

"I want to hear how you're doing. How things are going in New York."

"You've never cared about me in the past, so why the fuck do you care now?"

"Watch your language."

"Why? Because we're in front of a goddamn church? I'll say whatever the fuck I want, and if you don't like it then you can stop talking to me. You're the one who started this conversation. And I'm about to end it."

He turned to leave, but she grabbed his arm.

"Brian," she said. "Please. I just want to talk to you."

"If you're wanting to give me another speech about hellfire and brimstone, thanks but no thanks, I'll pass."

"I don't. I just want to know what's going on in your life."

"I can't go have coffee with you." Brian sighed as he turned back to face her. Why was she pushing this? What the fuck did she really want? "Justin is waiting for me back in the hotel room. I'm just out getting us dinner."

"Oh, you're still together? I had always heard you had quite the...reputation…"

"That I fucked around a lot, you mean? You heard right. But all that's over now, thanks to this." He smacked his hands on his wheelchair tires so hard it stung, but he didn't care. He was making a point. "You remember. You were glad that I wouldn't be able to, what was it, 'engage in the sinful act of sodomy' anymore, right? Anyway, yes, Justin and I are still together. And we still have sex, in case you're wondering. So, you didn't get your wish after all."

"I shouldn't have said what I did that day," she said, her tone almost contrite. Almost.

"Oh? You think maybe you should have had a little more compassion and a little less condemnation for your own goddamn son when he's lying in a hospital bed with a fucking permanent injury?" he spat. "You know, I didn't think I had anything to say to you, but I changed my mind. I do."

Brian took a deep breath. Joan said nothing.

"I'm doing okay, just like I always have, no thanks to you. I didn't fucking kill myself - I know, another sin - and I'm getting by just fine. Actually, I really am fabulous. I'm finding my own way. Trying to help other people. Justin and I are happy. We're sharing an apartment in New York. Living in sin."

Brian paused again. Joan was still quiet.

"When I was a kid, I used to want nothing more than for you to love me. To earn your approval. For you to be proud of me. I gave up on all of that a long time ago though. And I still don't care now. I'm living my life. I'm going on, in this chair, and I'm okay with it. I'm fucking happy now. And I'm not going to let you ruin that or take it away from me."

"I'm glad you're happy, Brian. I really am." Fuck if she didn't actually sound sort of sincere. Sort of.

"Good. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go. Justin's waiting on me. We're done here. Actually, we're done, period. Have a nice life."

And with that, he left his mother standing in the middle of the sidewalk. As he turned to go into the deli, he could see her out of the corner of his eye, hurrying up the steps of the church. Probably going to pray for his soul. He didn't really care. He'd said what he'd wanted to say for so long, and he felt better. Lighter.

The enormity of what he'd just done hit Brian as he sat alone in front of the counter at the deli, waiting for their order. He let out a shaky breath, and realized that his hands were shaking too. He'd just told his mother that he never wanted to speak to her again. And he didn't regret it. It felt like he was letting something go - letting go of any expectation that he would ever be able to earn her love or approval. That she would ever be proud of him. That she would ever be able to look him in the eye and tell him that she loved him and cared about him. He'd held onto those hopes for his entire life. No matter how apparent it had been that it was never going to happen, some small part of him had still held out hope that the woman who had given birth to him might have loved him, somewhere deep down. She said she did, but it never felt like she meant it. Their relationship was toxic, and it had been poisoning him for years.

There was always a distance between them, even when his mother had felt they were close, back when he was a kid. She was always cold. Unfeeling. And in sharp contrast to the warm, accepting nature of Debbie Novotny, whom he considered more of a mother to him than Joan Kinney ever could have been. He'd been drawn to Debbie like a moth to a flame from the first day he ever went over to Michael's house. Debbie gave hugs. Lots of them. She'd nursed his wounds when his "real" mother had failed to protect him from his father's drunken rampages. She'd let him in when he showed up on her doorstep at midnight, bruised, bleeding, and blinking back tears, and she let him sleep in Michael's room, where he felt safe. She'd shown him what love was - what it felt like to be loved. But it had taken him a long time to feel like he deserved it - to break free of the prison that his loveless upbringing had put him in. Sometimes he still struggled to feel worthy of love.

"Here you go," the man behind the counter said as he set a paper bag down in front of Brian, bringing him back to the present. "Have a good night."

"Thanks, you too," Brian said numbly as he picked up the bag and nestled it in his lap to take back to the hotel.

He was still in a daze when he entered the hotel room, where Justin was lying on the bed, propped up on the pillows, watching television.

"Hey," Justin said. "I was starting to think you'd gotten lost."

"Nope. I ran into my mother."

"Oh God."

"Yeah, that's probably what she's saying right about now. I'm sure she's at mass, praying for my soul."

"What happened?" Justin sat up straighter on the bed and turned off the TV.

"Same shit, different day. She pretended to be interested in my life. Acted all surprised that we're still together. Said she wanted to get coffee and talk." Brian tossed the bag of food onto the desk.

"Maybe she wants to repair your relationship - smooth things over between you."

"Sunshine, that's not possible. There's no fixing it. Anyway, I told her off. Told her that I didn't need anything from her and I never wanted to see her again. That I'm happy without her. That I don't need her to be proud of me, and I don't need her to love me." His voice was breaking a little now, and emotions that he didn't want to feel about this were starting to bubble up. Fuck.

"She's your mother. You only wanted her to act like a mother." Justin, who looked to be on the verge of tears himself, came over and sat sideways in Brian's lap, wrapping his arms around him. "I'm just sorry that she didn't want to be."

Brian pressed his forehead against Justin's. "I'm okay," he said quietly. "I promise. I've needed to say that to her for a long time. I needed to let that shit go."

"I love you."

"I know. I love you too."

Justin pulled away and reached for the food bag, opening it up and digging out his sandwich. He started to hand Brian's salad to him, but Brian stopped him.

"Put it in the fridge," he said. "I'm not hungry right now. I want to take a shower."

"Brian…" Justin was giving him a knowing look. There was more to this than just wanting to take a shower, and Brian knew Justin was well aware of that.

"I'm okay. I just need some time to myself. To think."

Brian could feel Justin's eyes on him as he turned, opened his suitcase to grab a pair of sweatpants and some clean underwear, and went into the bathroom. He stripped off his clothes and cursed how long it took to take off a fucking pair of pants now. Gone were the days of kicking his shoes off and shoving his pants down to kick them off as well. He vaulted his body onto the seat in the shower and turned on the water. He took the handheld shower nozzle and held it up over his head, letting the water run down his body, relishing the feeling of the warm droplets falling over his chest and back, which was aching from sitting still on the airplane for over an hour. He wondered if that was ever going to go away, or if he was stuck with it forever. He'd been trying to train himself to ignore it on most days, because the pain medication his doctor had prescribed him made him feel sleepy and slow. Tonight, though, he wanted it - needed it - because it would dull everything, including the feeling of loss he was dealing with right now, that he didn't want to be feeling at all.

He used the grab bars to shift himself back, leaning against the rear wall of the shower and closing his eyes. Why was he feeling this way? He'd said what he needed to say to his mother for so long. He was free now. But he remembered the words Rebecca had spoken to him nearly a year ago in rehab: there was still a loss. Letting go of the hope that his mother ever love him the way a mother should love her son. It did make him feel a little sad, and he knew he needed to acknowledge that, feel it, and let it go. Pushing it aside and trying not to think about it wasn't going to work. It never had.

So he let himself cry. Let himself mourn the subconscious desire he'd felt for most of his life, to earn his family's affection and approval, so he could feel worthy. He let the tears wash down the drain along with the water that warmed his body. Healing his soul. Letting go, once and for all, of that fruitless pursuit of the last 35 years that had brought him nothing but torment.

When the water started to run cold, he turned it off, wiped his face with his hands, and dried off. He fought with his underwear and pants again - it would have been much easier from the bed, but he wanted a few more minutes to collect himself before he went back out into the room and rejoined Justin. He dug one of his pill bottles out of the small bag that held their toiletries, and downed two of them. Now, he'd wait for them to numb his pain - the physical and the emotional.

Ten minutes later, he exited the bathroom and found Justin back on the bed, watching TV again. Brian joined him and wrapped an arm around his partner, pulling their bodies together tightly. Justin rolled over so he could wrap both of his arms around Brian and press his face into Brian's chest, and they stayed that way for a while, letting the noise from the television fall into the background as they breathed together.

"Better now?" Justin lifted his head up to look at Brian.

Brian nodded. "Yeah."

Justin kissed him. "Good. I'm glad."

They spent next hour watching some stupid cop show on TV that Justin liked. Brian was slowly losing track of what was going on, as the pills he'd taken started to kick in. Everything was blunted now, like he'd wanted - his back wasn't aching anymore, and neither was his head. The emotions that had been swirling slowed down, and he felt himself slipping off into a dreamless sleep.

He woke up briefly a few hours later to find that Justin had turned off the TV and the light, covered them both up, and fallen asleep himself, with his head resting on Brian's chest.

Yes, Sunshine, Brian thought to himself as he ran his fingers through Justin's hair. I'm still here. I'm alive. I'm here with you.

The next morning, they had breakfast in the hotel restaurant before heading off to Kinnetik, where Brian hadn't shown his face, except by video call, in months. He idly wondered if his staff was still scared of him, or if Ted and Cynthia had made them soft. Although it didn't really matter - because aside from the art department's occasional fuck-up, things seemed to be running fairly smoothly, even with the boss 400 miles away.

Justin had accompanied him to the office, since he didn't have anything to do until lunch, when he was supposed to meet up with Jennifer. Brian was going to be meeting Michael for lunch at the diner, and he wasn't sure if he was excited or apprehensive. He loved Michael and he knew Michael loved him, but he could be a little overbearing sometimes. And today was not a day when Brian wanted to deal with that.

While Brian spent the day reviewing artwork and boards and presentations for his long list of meetings on Friday and Monday, Justin was sitting on the couch in Brian's office, his feet up on the cushion and his sketchbook on his knees. He drew for most of the morning, taking periodic breaks to stretch his hand and let it rest. During one of his rest breaks, he drifted over behind Brian and was looking over his shoulder at a proof for a print ad for Eyeconics.

Brian was trying to decide what he didn't like about it, when Justin said, "The text needs to go over there, not here. It'll be more visually balanced that way."

And he was right. That was exactly what Brian didn't like about it and hadn't been able to put his finger on.

Brian showed him a few more things that the art department had come up with that he wasn't pleased with, and Justin made some suggestions, even sitting down at Brian's computer at one point to completely redesign something. Brian couldn't help but notice how Justin lit up when he worked on something creative - how passionate he was about doing his best work, no matter what the project was.

"You sure you don't want to come work for me?" Brian asked, knowing full well that Justin was about to refuse him again.

"Yes, I'm sure," Justin sighed. "Like I've told you over and over, I need to be independent."

"But wouldn't you rather spend your day creating something? I know I'd die if I spent most of my day waiting tables for selfish, demanding assholes, and I'm not even an artist."

Justin shrugged and went back over to the couch, picking up his sketchbook again.

"You seemed to really enjoy the internship at Vangard," Brian reminded him. "Even if you were there just to antagonize me."

"It worked, didn't it? I got what I wanted."

"You did enjoy the job too, though - and you were good at it."

"Yeah," Justin said, his voice almost wistful. "I'll think about it."

That was the most agreeable answer Brian had gotten out of Justin in the dozen or so times he'd asked him to come work at Kinnetik, so he decided he'd take it, and just wait and see.

Justin headed off to lunch first, and fifteen minutes later Brian was rolling down the sidewalk toward the Liberty Diner to meet Michael. It felt so different than the last time he'd been here - he was no longer wishing that the sidewalk would swallow him up or a wall would somehow pop up to shield him from view. A few people seemed to recognize him and nodded their quick, wordless greetings, but for the most part, people were just going about their business and he was just another face in the crowd. Had it really been just his own perception before that had made him feel like everyone here was scrutinizing him? Or had the passage of time simply lessened the shock factor of encountering the new Brian Kinney?

Michael didn't even let Brian get all the way to the diner before he was hurrying down the sidewalk to meet him, bending down to give him a hug and to kiss him on the lips.

"It's so good to see you," Michael said as he stood back up, a smile spreading across his face. "You look good. Like New York has been treating you well."

"It has, it has. Thanks. Shall we?" Brian led the way to the door and beat Michael to it, pulling it open himself and then holding it behind him until Michael caught it.

"I could have gotten the door for you," Michael said as they entered the diner.

"I know. I was there first, so I got it. I open doors all the time, Mikey."

They didn't make it halfway to the booth against the wall at the back of the restaurant before Debbie swept out of the kitchen and nearly suffocated Brian with one of her infamous, neverending hugs. This one didn't hurt like the one she'd given him around this time last year, though. It felt nice. Warm. Comfortable. Like he'd never been away at all. And it helped take away some of what he was still feeling after running into his mother the previous night. Reminded him that he did still have a mother in Debbie, even if they weren't biologically related.

"I'm so glad you're here, honey," she said once she'd finally released him, her hand still resting on one of his shoulders. "We've missed you. You and Sunshine are going to have to tell us all about New York on Sunday."

"What's Sunday?" Brian asked incredulously.

"Family dinner, of course!" Debbie exclaimed. "Did you really think we were going to let you come for a visit without having a family dinner?"

He knew what else Sunday was - his birthday - but he decided to let that go for now. He also could see Michael giving his mother a look that seemed to say, "Shut the fuck up."

"You'd better be there, you little shit." Debbie smacked his arm playfully as she turned to go back behind the counter.

"Don't worry, I will," he called after her, before adding in a lower voice, to Michael, "because I'd like to keep my one remaining ball." He slid into the last booth and pushed his wheelchair back against the wall.

Michael chuckled as he took his seat across from Brian. "Shit, I'd almost forgotten about that."

"What, you crying over me, thinking I was going to die, and telling me you didn't know how you were going to go on without me? And I ended up comforting you, when I was the one who'd just had a ball removed? I was fine. I was going to be fine."

"Well, I didn't know that. God, that seems so far away now. With everything…" Michael let his voice trail off.

"Everything that's happened since then?" Brian finished for him.

"Yeah. I really did think I was going to lose you a year ago. I'll never forget that day. It was fucking scary."

"How do you think I felt?"

"I can't imagine." Michael shook his head. "But you're okay now. And I'm really grateful for that."

"I can see Zen Ben is rubbing off on you. Talking about gratitude and shit."

"I mean it." Michael's dark brown eyes were staring directly into Brian's. "I'm glad you're still here. I know it hasn't been easy. And I know you didn't tell me the half of it."

"You're right." Brian looked down at the table and toyed with the silverware. "I didn't."

"You're a strong person. You always have been. Because you had to be. But I think you've come out of this even stronger." Michael suddenly looked very nervous, and Brian wondered why. Michael swallowed hard and opened his messenger bag. "Speaking of that, I have something I want to show you."

Brian looked up at Michael and raised an eyebrow. Michael pulled a comic book out of the bag and pushed it across the table toward Brian. "This is a proof," he said. "It's the only copy right now. If you aren't comfortable with what's in here, it won't be published. It will go no farther than right here. I want you to know that I mean that."

"What's it about?" Brian asked.

"Open it and see," Michael said. "We wanted to tell the world how strong you are - how strong Rage is. I hope that comes through in the story."

As Brian turned the pages of the comic, he saw his own story of the last year depicted in cartoon form, with a few changes to make it into more of a superhero story. Rage was zapped by Ice-Tina's ray gun and ended up paralyzed. Thinking that he'd lost all of his powers, including his power of mind control, and his superhuman charisma and persuasiveness, Rage sank into a depression. He felt like he had nothing left. Zephyr tried to pull him out of it but failed. J.T., who had been away for a while but returned once he heard Rage was in trouble, was able to make a connection, however. And though it took some effort, he ultimately helped Rage realize that he still had all of his powers, even if he never recovered the ability to walk. He could still make the homophobes think they were gay so they'd attack each other, and he could still charm the pants off anyone he wanted to - both literally and figuratively. He just needed to have the right perspective. To see how strong he still was. Much like Brian had needed the right perspective to see past the self-doubt that had held him down for much of the past year.

"Well, what do you think?" Michael said eagerly, but with a note of apprehension in his voice. He was studying Brian's face intently.

Brian didn't know what to say. It was overwhelming to see all of this down on paper - the way Michael and Justin had seen the events of the past year.

"If you don't want it published, it won't be." Michael reached across the table and laid his hand over Brian's. "You have my word on that. I know this is personal. It's private, and it probably still feels raw. So we wanted you to have the final approval."

Brian looked down at the last page for a while, running his fingers lightly across the corner. Was he ready for this - the story of how his life had changed so much in an instant, and how he'd struggled to grasp it - to be in print? A few months ago, he definitely would have said no. But now, things felt different. He was starting to come into his own and get a good grip on who he was in the world now, and although he was different from the person he had been for so long, that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. He had felt like he'd lost everything when this happened - like he was never going to find any more purpose in his life. But, thanks to his friends and family and the real-life J.T., he'd realized that he just needed to approach things in a different way. So, before he could change his mind, he spoke.

"Do it. Print it."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Okay." Michael smiled. "Let's do it."

"Sorry for the delay, boys," Debbie said as she walked up to the table with two glasses of water. "Kiki's out with the flu and as you can see things are a little crazy around here today."

"No problem, Ma," Michael said. "It gave Brian and I some time to talk." He reached across the table and closed the comic book, then stuck it back in his bag.

Debbie took their orders and left the table, and Brian and Michael talked while they waited for their food, and later while they ate - catching up on everything that was going on in their lives. It still felt so strange to Brian to not see Michael practically on a daily basis, the way he had for more than 20 years. They still talked on the phone regularly, but it wasn't quite the same. It felt right for Brian to let Justin take on the role of being his number one confidant and primary support - he was his partner, after all - but he still missed Michael, and it was good to be able to sit and talk for awhile. Michael was still his brother. Eventually, however, they both had to go back to their respective businesses, and the two friends went their separate ways with a hug and a kiss, like they always did.

When Brian got back to Kinnetik, Justin was already in his office, standing behind the desk, looking at something, running his fingers over it.

"What's up?" Brian asked.

"These turned out great," Justin said, holding up what he'd been looking at - it was one of the images from his disability advocacy campaign, blown up and mounted on foam board. They must have arrived while he was out to lunch, and someone had left them on his desk.

"Yeah, it did. Wow. It feels so different to see it in print. To see me, in print."

"Not getting cold feet, are you?"

"Not at all. I can't fucking feel them anyway, so how would I know?" Brian came up behind Justin and pulled him down so that the younger man was sitting in his lap, and wrapped his arms around him, resting his chin on Justin's shoulder. "That comic book was awesome."

"I'm glad you liked it." Justin breathed out what Brian assumed was a sigh of relief. "I was worried that you might not be okay with it. That you might not want to be that open with the world."

"Maybe it's time to be. It happened. It sucks. But I'm getting through it."

"You are." Justin planted a quick kiss on Brian's lips. "And you're still our superhero. So who are you presenting your campaign to?"

"Remson. I figured there's some good synergy there. Hell, I take so many prescription drugs that I feel like I'm carrying around half the pharmacy sometimes. Anyway, the meeting is tomorrow morning. We'll see how it goes. Sometimes he's a tough nut to crack."

"I'm sure you'll win him over, no problem - you always do. Or did you already forget that Rage still has all of his powers?"

Justin stood up, stretched, and walked back over to the couch, where he picked up his sketchbook again. For the next two hours, he went back and forth between sketching and appearing to be lost in thought, while Brian checked his email and made sure, one last time, that everything was taken care of and lined up for his long day of meetings tomorrow. Remson would be up first.

He and Justin headed back to the hotel around dinnertime, ordered room service, and spent the rest of the night unable to keep their hands off each other. Just like old times.

Brian had finally talked with his doctor about the headaches and the pounding heart he was getting every time he took the Viagra - and holy fuck had that been the most uncomfortable and embarrassing conversation he'd ever had in his life. But he'd done it, and had left with a prescription for something injectable instead, that shouldn't cause those problems. They were trying it out - so far so good - when Justin reached for a condom, and Brian grabbed his arm to stop him.

"What?" Justin asked, obviously puzzled.

"We don't need that."

"Why not? Did you change your mind? Are you feeling okay?" Justin rolled off of Brian and looked up at him, with clear concern in his eyes.

"I'm fine. I just...we don't need it." Brian nervously raked his fingers through his hair. "I can't...do that anymore."

"What?"

"Are you going to make me spell it out for you? You've probably already fucking noticed." Shit. He really didn't want to have to say it out loud. He already felt like less of a man because of it, but there wasn't a damn thing he could do.

"No, Brian, I-" Justin stammered. "Well, I had noticed, but I didn't want to ask, and I wasn't going to say anything."

"It's just one of those things. A spinal cord injury thing. Christ, that makes it sound so clinical." Who knew ejaculation was such a complex process? Apparently it was. And when your neural superhighway was caved in, well...that went with it. It was fucking depressing. Maybe the most frustrating part of all of this.

"Anyway, I haven't been with anyone but you in the past year," Brian said. "And I'm clean. How about you?"

"Two people. Right after I got to New York. But they weren't you. So no one else after that. And I'm clean too."

"You hadn't been with anyone for months, before we got back together?"

Justin shrugged. "I was busy with my art, and work. And tricking isn't really my thing, you know."

Brian knew. Better than he cared to admit. After all, Justin had walked away from him twice because he wanted a boyfriend who only wanted him, who wanted to stay home sometimes, instead of always going out to the club. Who wanted to get married and be monogamous. At that point, Brian had been utterly unwilling to give up his life of sucking and fucking around. He'd acquiesced to Justin's rules of no repeats, no kissing, and coming home by 3 a.m., but that was as good as Justin was getting. At least, back then. Even when they'd planned to get married, there had been no promise of monogamy.

But now, tricking made no sense for Brian. What he enjoyed about sex now wasn't the physical sensation of getting his dick sucked or having it inside someone's tight ass - it was the intimacy that he shared with Justin.

"So, if we're only going to be with each other, I figured…" Brian let his voice fade.

"...that maybe we don't need the condoms anymore." Justin finished Brian's sentence.

"Right."

"Okay." Justin leaned in and kissed Brian before climbing on top of him again. This time, they would connect with nothing between them. For the first time. And it made Brian feel a little melancholy, because it reminded him of all he'd lost that he would never get back. But he knew he couldn't dwell on that, because it wouldn't fix anything. He had to focus on what he'd gained — how his relationship with Justin, and his relationship with himself, had changed for the better.

Later that night, as they drifted off to sleep, Brian could feel Justin's fingers lightly tracing the scar on his back.

Reminding him he'd survived.

Friday was Justin's day to spend with Daphne, so he dropped Brian off at Kinnetik for his full day of meetings. Starting with his meeting with Remson. He set the boards up in the conference room for their new Endovir ad, along with the boards for his own personal crusade that he hoped they'd sign onto. Rolling back a little, he took another look at himself - the new version of himself - in print. Ink on paper forming the image of a man who had once felt broken beyond repair, whose gaze now clearly showed a hunger to be seen and accepted for exactly who he was now.

Brian was particularly nervous about the meeting with Remson because this would be the first time they'd seen him in the past year. The last time they'd had an in-person meeting, it had been with Cynthia, and the time before that, it was with Ted, because he'd been laid up in the hospital. The encounter was just as awkward as he figured it would be - just like every other first encounter he'd had with people who knew him before. There was the usual sputtering and awkward hand-shaking and people not knowing where to look, or whether or not to look at all.

He took a deep breath and sat up a little straighter, remembering Rochelle's words: "You have to figure out who you are outside of your disability. And own that." Now was the time to own being strong, capable, and intelligent - none of those things had changed about him just because he was now sitting in the conference room instead of standing.

They approved the Endovir ad quickly and without hesitation, and soon it was time to reveal the other reason he'd asked them to be here in person. As he uncovered the images of himself and the one of Alison, he hoped they couldn't see how much his hands were shaking. This was it. He was putting himself out there. Brian Fucking Kinney didn't do that shit. Cynthia shot him an encouraging smile that he caught out of the corner of his eye.

"I have another campaign I'd like you to consider," Brian said, trying to push down the nervous feeling in his stomach and willing his hands to stop trembling. "When you first came in here today, I know it was jarring for you to see me - to see this." He gestured down at his wheelchair. "You didn't know where to look, how to look, what to ask, how to act. I'm used to that now - it happens all the time. But it shouldn't. Society teaches us not to stare at those who are different, but we forget that means we are overlooking those people. Pretending they don't exist. But we do exist."

He took a deep breath and evaluated their faces before continuing. They looked intrigued, if a little self-conscious.

"I've been to hell and back in the last year. As you know, I was in a car accident almost a year ago. I lost my ability to walk. But I felt like I lost a hell of a lot more than that. I lost my identity. The core of who I was as a person. Finding that again has been a long process, but through it, I've found that I can help myself as well as others by being an advocate for disability rights. By reminding the able-bodied that disabled people exist. We deserve to take up space, we shouldn't be objectified or overlooked, and we shouldn't have assumptions made about us. That's what this campaign is all about. By putting your name on it, you'll be creating a positive name for yourself in the disability community, which seems like a natural fit for a pharmaceutical company such as yourself. People will associate Remson with standing up for their right to be treated like a human being, in spite of their differences, obvious or otherwise. Eventually, I'd like to expand this to include all types of disabilities, even the ones you can't see. That is, of course, contingent on finding a company such as yourself who would like to partner with me. So, what are your thoughts?" Brian's palms were sweating, and he was more apprehensive now than he had been before - almost feeling as if their approval or rejection was personal, this time. And maybe it was.

After what seemed like an eternity, Lawrence Remson finally responded. "I like it," he said. "I think you're absolutely right, as uncomfortable as it might be to hear. And I'd love to associate our company with this. I'd also like to commend your candor."

Brian felt like he could breathe again. He'd passed the test, and he now had a backer in his mission to find a purpose for his life. To own who he was now, and to feel just as powerful and in-control as he had before.

The rest of the day's meetings went well, and although Brian was incredibly tired from the long day - longer than he'd worked in a while - he felt like he'd accomplished something. He'd finally overcome feeling like he couldn't possibly measure up to the ghost of Brian Kinney past.

They ate breakfast on Saturday morning at the diner with Michael and Ben, and went out to Babylon on Saturday night with the entire gang, most of whom seemed very surprised that Brian was going to join them. But he did, and he even danced a little - no longer feeling like it was something he couldn't or shouldn't do. Just like everything else, this was all about perception. Justin had been right when he'd dragged him out there at Christmas - no one was staring at him, and there were actually a couple of guys who seemed to be cruising him, although they weren't his type. He had a good time, but he was happy to be going home with Justin at the end of the night - just as he had been on many occasions before, except this time he was actually willing to admit that to himself.

Then came Sunday. Brian's birthday. He really didn't like to think much of his birthday anymore, because he still couldn't get his 30th out of his head. The sight of blood on cement, being soaked up by the silk scarf he'd bought as a gift to himself. The blood smeared across Justin's face and lips, that had ended up all over his own face and neck as he struggled to see if Justin was still breathing. Still alive. The cold, hard concrete against his legs as he knelt beside Justin's lifeless body, shielding it with his own as if to provide a measure of protection - too little, too late. He'd been so numb that he didn't even remember dialing 9-1-1, or the ambulance ride, or most of that first night at the hospital. He'd rather not remember his birthday at all, than to have to consider the guilt and the pain that had come about because he'd showed up to Justin's prom, danced with him, and kissed him in front of everyone. He still felt like it was his fault that Justin had been attacked - he was the responsible party, and the reason Justin had lost so much.

For his own loss, Brian had no one to blame but himself. Himself and the universe. And it didn't do him any good to be angry at himself, or angry at the world. It still didn't change a damn thing. But he couldn't get past the shame and blame he felt over the bashing, and he honestly didn't think he ever would.

Today was also Father's Day, which wasn't helping Brian's mood, because he missed Gus - a phrase that just a few years ago, Brian didn't think would ever cross his mind. He hadn't seen his son in months. Not since Christmas. And he hated missing out on so much in his son's life. Most of all, he hated how the fear he'd had of becoming like his own father, had kept him from being more involved when Gus was younger. When Gus was just a few streets away, instead of living in another country. But he couldn't turn back the clock, and he'd have to accept that. Another item on the list of Brian Kinney's mistakes that he was going to have to live with, because he didn't have a choice.

Thankfully, Justin was keeping things pretty low key and seemed to be following Brian's lead. He was all for the room service breakfast and spending the morning in bed, watching television and enjoying each other's company, in more ways than one. But there was also Deb's suspiciously-timed family dinner later to come in the afternoon, and Brian was fairly sure he knew that it wasn't just a dinner.

"So, we're going to Deb's today, right?" Brian asked Justin, who was channel surfing and trying to find something to watch other than cartoons or infomercials. He was absolutely fishing to see if Justin knew anything.

"Uh...yeah, sure." Justin was trying to keep his tone nonchalant, but his facial expression revealed obvious surprise that Brian had known about the dinner at all.

"She practically threatened me the other day at the diner."

"Oh? Hmm."

"Alright, Sunshine. What's up?"

"Oh...nothing. Sorry, I'm just distracted."

"Yeah, by trying to keep my surprise party a secret?"

Justin's face broke out into a smile and he rolled his eyes. "How'd you find out? Did Emmett tell you? He can never keep a secret."

"No one told me. I figured it out all by myself. I know when my birthday is. Michael thinks I don't know what he's up to, doesn't he? I know this isn't a regular old family dinner. It's my birthday, and I know Michael. This is a fucking birthday party."

"I told him you were going to be pissed. And that you were going to be pissed at me for knowing. Are you pissed at me?"

"No, not at all. And I'm not pissed at Michael, either. But he doesn't know that."

They showed up at Debbie's back door right on time. Brian was ready to act surprised, and to have a little bit of fun with his best friend by pretending to be mad at him. But when they opened the door, and everyone yelled surprise, something inside of him shifted, and he found himself getting a little bit emotional. Here were all of these people - the people he'd called his friends for so many years but often hadn't treated as such - who cared about him and loved him enough to plan this and to be here to celebrate his life. The fact that he was still here. This wasn't like the death day party they'd thrown for his 30th. He wasn't dreading being another year older. Now, he was thankful to be. Even if he was starting the last half of his thirties. And forty was getting too fucking close for comfort.

Standing in a corner were Lindsay, and Melanie - who was even smiling - and Gus, who wasted no time running at Brian and jumping into his lap, with Lindsay trailing close behind him and telling him to be careful.

"I'm okay," Brian assured her. "I'm not going to break."

"Happy birthday, Daddy!" Gus said excitedly, as he threw his arms around Brian and planted a sloppy kiss on his lips. Brian had to blink back tears as he wrapped his arms around his son.

After a minute or so, Lindsay gently pulled Gus away. "Let's let Daddy say hi to everybody else, okay?"

As she handed Gus off to Melanie, Lindsay gave Brian a hug of her own.

"It's been too long," she said, her arms tight around Brian's shoulders as she embraced him. "You look like you're doing really well."

"All grown up, Wendy."

"I'm proud of you, Peter." She smiled at their inside joke as she returned to stand with her own little family.

He looked around the room, taking in everyone who was there: Ted, Blake, Ben, Emmett, Mel holding J.R., Linds, Gus, Michael, Debbie, and even Carl.

Debbie walked up to him, and he could see that her eyes were wet with tears, which made it harder to hold his own back. But he managed it, even as she held him for a moment.

"We know you don't believe in birthdays, but we hoped you'd let us celebrate anyhow," she said. "I know it's been a rough year, but you made it. Love you, kiddo." She kissed his cheek before returning to the kitchen to finish preparing what would no doubt be a feast - Debbie always made way too much food. But it was one way she showed her love.

One by one, everyone greeted him, making him feel more overwhelmed with every hug.

Finally, Michael, who had been leaning against the wall, grinning, came over next to give Brian a hug and a kiss. "Happy birthday. I hope you're not mad at me."

"I wanted to be. But I can't be." Brian shook his head. "Thanks, Mikey."

"I'm glad you're still here," Michael said softly into Brian's ear. "I wanted to celebrate that. So did everyone else. We love you."

Those last three words were still hard to hear - he didn't feel like he deserved it. He hadn't done anything to deserve it.

There was too much food and too much wine and too much cake, and countless memories shared around Debbie's dining room table, just as there had been on so many different occasions. This was his family. Bound together by love, even if not by blood. And even though he didn't feel worthy of their love, it was clear that they thought he was. He wondered if he'd ever be able to feel like he deserved it.

He still wasn't much on birthdays, but he had made it to 36. And he had to admit that it hadn't been easy. So maybe it was worth celebrating, after all. This one wasn't just a birthday; it was an achievement.

Four days later, Brian and Justin were back in New York. Justin had decided to quit his restaurant job and accept a position at Kinnetik, and Brian was wondering if Justin would connect the dots and realize what today was. June 21st. The day when Brian's life had changed forever - be it for better or worse.

Six months ago, Brian would definitely have said it was for worse. He'd felt like he had lost everything - lost sight of himself - and had no idea how he was going to go on, or how long he was going to be able to fake it until he made it. If he'd make it at all. But now, his vision was clearer. He didn't have to fake it anymore. He'd gotten past things that he thought he'd never be able to make it out of, and realized some things about himself along the way. Realized that he was still a strong, intelligent, capable person - and he didn't need to be able to walk to be those things. He'd dealt with the denial, the anger, the bargaining, and the depression, and made it to acceptance. Finally. To accept what had happened to him, and go on with his life, unencumbered by the ghosts of the past. Ready to embrace his present and his future.

Maybe he could do great things. Starting now.

"You know what today was, right?" Brian asked Justin as they lay together in bed that night, tangled in each other's arms.

"I do."

"Why didn't you say something?"

"I didn't know if you'd want to be reminded."

"It wasn't my best day. But it brought me back to you. So that's something."

Justin wove his fingers through Brian's and squeezed his hand. "Yes, that's something."

While this day certainly still held a note of sadness for Brian, and he did feel mournful for what he'd lost, that feeling didn't eclipse how thankful he was for what he'd gained. Perspective. Empathy. Strength. Purpose. Love.

Brian and Justin were inextricably connected - they each understood what it was like to have everything you knew, everything that was familiar, snatched away in an instant. And they each knew what it was like to work your way through the tragedy and the trauma, and all of the progress and all of the backsliding and the victories and the frustrations, and come out on the other side. To have to accept what was, because you didn't have a choice. To come out a different version of yourself, but one that was still, at its core, the person you'd always been, only made better thanks to the benefit of perspective.

They'd always be united. They'd never needed rings or vows to prove that they loved each other. But there was still something to be said for making it official.

"How about marrying me?"


End file.
